After All These Years Book Seven: The Finale
by Are you calling me crazy
Summary: Betrayed and broken, Levina Snowpetal has returned in this epic conclusion to the Harry Potter series for one last, final battle against the Dark Lord. But the fiery Werewolf is not going down without a fight, one that is almost certain to leave her with nothing left. Choices must be made and prophecies must be fulfilled, but Levina is more than ready for the oncoming storm.
1. Prologue

**Wow. I'm still in awe that I actually made it all the way to Book Seven; it feels as though I was just starting on Book One yesterday (Okay, not really, but whatever)! Thanks to all my faithful reviewers/people who have favorited me and such. All of you are amazing! **

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything but Levina and any other unrecognizable characters!**

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The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

"News?" asked the taller of the two.

"The best," replied Severus Snape.

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.

"Thought I might be late," said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?"

Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring the men's way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal was smoke.

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men's footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again pointing it over his companion's head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

"He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks…" Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing.

"Isn't that the Levesque house?" said Yaxley, gesturing toward the neighboring manor. "Where Snowpetal's living?"

"No point in attacking," said Snape coolly. "I believe they most likely abandoned the home for now, but if they were there, it would be heavily protected by Aurors and magical barriers. Waste of breath. You know that."

Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the wall followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight were looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.

"Yaxley. Snape," said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. "You are very nearly late."

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

"Severus, here," said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Yaxley, sit beside Dolohov."

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

"So?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter and Levina Snowpetal from their current places of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort. Sitting next to his father, Draco looked up for a fraction of a second at the sound of the names spoken.

"Saturday…at nightfall," repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape's black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort's face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

"Good. Very good. And this information comes—"

"–from the source we discussed," said Snape.

"My Lord."

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.

"My Lord, I have heard differently."

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen. I'm not sure about the girl, though."

Snape was smiling.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

"I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain," said Yaxley.

"If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain," said Snape. "I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter, nor Levina Snowpetal. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

"My Lord," Yaxley went on, "Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy—"

Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.

"Where are they going to hide the two next?"

"At the home of one of the Order," said Snape. "The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking them once they are there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."

"Well, Yaxley?" Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. "Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?"

Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.

"My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have, with difficulty—and after great effort—succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse."

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.

"It is a start," said Voldemort. "But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."

"Yes—my Lord, that is true -but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down."

"As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," said Voldemort. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels."

"We are at an advantage there, my Lord," said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. "We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately."

"He will not do either," said Snape. "The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place."

"All the better," said Voldemort. "He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far."

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, "I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."

The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence, as well as Levina Snowpetal's powers still residing within her. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.

"Is the Levesque manor occupied?" said Dolohov uncertainly.

"If it is, we shall not bother with it. It will be under heavy protection," said Voldemort, confirming what Snape had said, "and under constant watch."

There came a bold snort, and everyone turned. Lydia Russell, a woman with wild, blond hair and dark, undomesticated blue eyes, was sitting across from Snape, a smirk on her emaciated features. "Levesque, you say? I hear that the eldest male of the Levesque family is still alive…They sure are difficult to kill, aren't they?"

A few Death Eaters began to laugh, but when Voldemort did not join in, their voices died away, and even Lydia quieted under his presence, sinking lower into her chair.

"I believe you have offspring of your own, am I correct?" said Voldemort coldly, knowing he had struck a nerve as Lydia flinched. "Is there any reason that _your _eldest daughter has not yet joined us? She is the same age as Draco, yes?"

"What, Eternity?" Lydia spat on the ground. "If you so desired it, I could force her into it, but she'd be less than willing, I am sure…Worthless little mongrels…If I had my way, they'd both be dead as of now."

The room quieted slightly, but it seemed that Voldemort was less than interested in Lydia's children. He returned to the previous conversation.

"I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

"Wormtail," said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"

"Yes, m-my Lord," gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.

"As I was saying," continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

"No volunteers?" said Voldemort. "Let's see…Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

"My Lord?"

"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."

"I…"

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, matching her sister Lydia's, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord," whispered Malfoy.

"And the core?"

"Dragon-dragon heartstring."

"Good," said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort's wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.

"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"

Some of the throng sniggered.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late…What is it about my presence in your home that displaces you, Lucius?"

"Nothing—nothing, my Lord!"

"Such lies Lucius…"

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it—we do."

To Malfoy's left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

"My Lord," said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honor to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness. There was a very obvious tension between the three sisters, and Lydia and Bellatrix continually shot each other looks of distaste.

"No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."

Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure…even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.

"I don't know what you mean, my Lord."

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa, as well as you, Lydia. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The giant snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys' humiliation. Bellatrix's face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lord," she cried over the outpouring of mirth. "We—Narcissa and I—have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

"What say you, Draco?" asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother's eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

"I'm sure you'll be perfectly fine with it," said Voldemort, "considering how you were acquaintances with one…Some word has it that you were seen speaking with the one on that night. An…ah…'friend' of yours. _Levina Snowpetal."_

More jeers. Draco's pale face flushed a dull red, but Lucius came to his rescue hastily.

"They're enemies," said Lucius confidently in a soft voice. "I've seen them. They've…they've always hated each other since they were young…My lord, they were most likely arguing, I hear that she was yelling at him…He betrayed her, you see."

Draco looked up at his father in both relief and fear, as though something his father had said was incorrect.

"He's right," said Lydia Russell with a shrug, looking almost annoyed with herself for adding on to his argument. "I heard the little half-breed cussing her heart out at him. Quite funny, it was."

Voldemort nodded, but he didn't linger any more on the subject.

"Enough," he said, stroking the angry snake. "Enough."

And the laughter died at once.

"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring, "You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."

"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"

"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world…we shall cut away the cancer that infects us until only those of the true blood remain..."

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort.

Snape raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!"

"Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

"And you, Draco?" asked Voldemort, stroking the snake's snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed unable to look at her anymore.

"But you would not have taken her classes," said Voldemort. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.

"Yes…Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles…how they are not so different from us..."

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again.

"Severus…please…please..."

"Silence," said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy's wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance…She would have us all mate with Muggles…or, no doubt, werewolves…"

Nobody laughed this time. There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. Draco looked slightly ashamed with himself for something, and he nervously fiddled with his hands. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.

"Dinner, Nagini," said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.

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**I loved the way JK Rowling started this book, and I sincerely hope that I did it justice with my 'adjustments' :) **

**Reviews welcome, as they always are. **


	2. The Nine Potters

_**Disclaimer: Nope, I'm still not JK Rowling. Anything you recognize is hers, anything you don't is mine.**_

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_But the pain subsided quickly; to her utter surprise, Levina saw, with tear-stained eyes, Greyback fall backwards, knocked out cold. In front of him stood Draco, his wand shakily drawn._

_"Dra…" Levina managed, her head pounding, but her vision was coming in and out, and she wasn't sure what was real or not anymore. "…co."_

_She could feel someone at her side, their warm hand on her wrist. It felt familiar, and she knew at once who it was, but she heard Snape's voice shout, from miles away, "Go, Draco! Now!" and the comforting hand vanished, leaving her cold and more alone than ever._

Levina sat bolt upright so abruptly that she scared Lilypad off of the bedcovers, sending the hissing feline onto the floor. She was drenched in an uncomfortable sweat, her breathing heavy.

It was almost as though her mind enjoyed playing these little games on her, seeing as every night was exactly the same: She'd fall asleep, start off with a fairly normal dream, and suddenly be cast into a nightmare of less than fond memories, haunting her until she begged to be awoken.

"Drink."

Levina rolled onto her left side, blinking sleep from her eyes as a figure came into view: Destiny Levesque. She was kneeling down next to Levina's bed, clutching a cup of tea in her hands, her soapy-blue eyes compassionate.

"No thanks," Levina mumbled, reaching up to feel her pounding forehead.

"It'll help," Destiny insisted, pushing the cup into Levina's hand. "I brewed a calming potion this morning, and I put some of it in this."

"All right, all right," said Levina, taking the tea cup from her cousin and proceeding to down a gulp of it.

Even after all the time she'd spent in there, the room seemed unfamiliar…foreign. At the end of the school year, it was thought best that, for the sake of Levina and the Levesques, they move from their manor for the time being. They left most of their belongings behind in a tight enchantment that would keep intruders out of the house, but they themselves moved into a Muggle house on none other than Privet drive. The house was up for sale, and as it turns out, it was only a few doors down from Harry Potter's own home. This set-up was made so that, when the time came that they would need to re-locate Levina and Harry to a safer location, it would be much easier.

But it took a while for the witches and wizards to settle into the cramped Muggle home. Whereas the manor was large, elegant, and full of spacious rooms and high-class furniture, the house they now stayed in was casual, small, and a tight squeeze. Levina and Destiny shared a bedroom on the upper floor and Uncle Nicholas took the downstairs one. Eric slept in the guest bedroom, but he and Uncle Nick were often gone at alternate times, doing work for the Order and such. Eric had to explain to the dragon sanctuary (And his girlfriend) that he would not be returning, as he had to keep an eye on Levina.

Levina set the tea cup down on its plate and rolled sluggishly out of her bed. She groaned, knowing that she would have to clean out her trunk finally—and boy did it need it. The poor thing had not been emptied completely since she had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, she had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom—old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit. She made a mental note to give them to Dobby the next time she saw him.

"About time," Destiny commented as Levina began to scoop various objects out of her trunk, clattering them onto the floor. "You said you were going to do this four days ago!"

"I know, I know," said Levina. She had indeed procrastinated on this particular project, not altogether enjoying the idea of going through ancient belongings crammed at the bottom.

"Well, come downstairs when you're done," said Destiny, "I found this really cool-looking thing in one of the kitchen drawers." And with that, she vanished down the stairs.

Levina fished out an old badge that read UNBEATABLE BEATER, but it appeared that the badge had indeed been beaten; it was horribly scratched up and the pin was slightly bent, from years of playing Quidditch and being hit by flying, rogue bludgers. The next objects she dug out were a tattered and frayed box that once contained Coconut Ice, and a slightly smaller, worn crimson box from Fred. It was the one he'd given her when he had left Hogwarts during Umbridge's rein. She gingerly fingered the beautifully crafted, icy blue ring on her finger, which matched her 'condition' necklace (Which Lupin had furiously forced her to wear after hearing about her incident in which she almost turned into a Werewolf). She sighed, remembering the day all too well, the kiss they shared…

Fittingly enough, the letter that was once tied up inside the box was the very next article that she found:

_Thought you might want something to go with that necklace of yours. Don't worry about the cost of it; by the time you read this, we'll probably be swamped with customers. Tell Harry George and I said thanks for the Galleons that created our shop and that he's welcome to any of our products._

_Hang in there with Umbridge; she'll be gone by the end of the year, since the DADA job's rigged. Good luck on your OWL and best of luck to you all!_

_-Fred-_

Levina laughed out loud and startled her Spectacled owl Athena, who was perched on the windowsill, looking dreamily out the window. Fred was right: Umbridge was indeed gone before the end of the year. Levina got up off of her knees and went to the hooting owl's aid, stroking her feathers.

"You know I can't let you out right now," she said, running a hand down Athena's side. "It's too dangerous, girl."

Athena gave an indignant hoot and Levina returned to her luggage pile.

It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items, and sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not she would need them from now on. Most of her school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills, and some textbooks were left behind in the Levesque Manor, so she didn't have to fret too much over them. Her Muggle clothing, potion-making kit, art kit, certain books, a stack of letters, and her wand had been repacked into an old rucksack.

In the midst of digging, she found some old moving photographs from her younger years…Looking back, she thought of both how foolishly immature she used to act, and yet how much fun she once had. The photos said everything: There were some of her in her first year, sitting with little Harry, Ron, and Hermione at lunch, waving at the camera. Some of them were from the Yule ball, with Levina, Destiny, and the twins all gathered together, beaming…But one caught her attention the most: A photo of Draco Malfoy in his fifth year, obliviously looking away from the camera to adjust his prefect badge. Destiny had scrawled in her pretty cursive across the top of it: _Weasel git! _She laughed for a good three minutes straight before continuing her voyage into the depths of her suitcase.

Once finished, Levina pried herself up off of the floor and unfolded a stack of newspapers that were collecting dust. She remembered one particular article that she'd read over one hundred times, over and over again. At last she found it. Turning to page ten, she flopped down on her bed and scanned over the words again:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED

By Elphias Doge

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three young Muggles.

Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make him do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his father's action and assumed that Albus too was a Muggle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, his determined support for Muggle rights gained him many enemies in subsequent years.

In a matter of months, however, Albus's own fame had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with which he was always generous. He confessed to me later in life that he knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in teaching.

He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore's future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would become Minister of Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.

Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus's brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not alike: Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as two such different boys could do. In fairness to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been any more pleasurable as a brother. When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay my respects at Kendra's funeral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me.

That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus, describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists. His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward the end of my year's travels, that another tragedy had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, Ariana.

Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their mother, had a profound effect on both of her brothers. All those closest to Albus—and I count myself one of that lucky number - agree that Ariana's death, and Albus's feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.

I returned home to find a young man who had experienced a much older person's suffering. Albus was more reserved than before, and much less light-hearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift - in later years they reestablished, if not a close relationship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.

Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore's innumerable contributions to the store of Wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments while Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wizarding duel ever matched that between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary wizards to battle. Dumbledore's triumph, and its consequences for the Wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to the Wizarding world's. That he was the most inspiring and best loved of all Hogwarts headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working always for the greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day I met him.

Levina finally finished reading, but continued to gaze at the picture accompanying the obituary. Dumbledore was wearing his familiar, kindly smile, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

She had thought she knew Dumbledore quite well, or perhaps that Harry had, as he had spent so much time with him, but ever since reading this obituary she had been forced to recognize that she had barely known him at all. A swirl of guilt arose in the pit of her stomach. She could have spent more time with him, could have spoken to him more…But then, wouldn't it have hurt more to lose him? She thought of Harry…

Levina tore the obituary out of the Prophet, folded it carefully, and tucked it inside her "_Werewolves: A Look Inside" _novel. She didn't bother with today's newspaper—no sense in reading anything that would only set her off again. Instead, she ran downstairs, skidding in her socks, and entered the kitchen to find Destiny and Uncle Nicholas sitting at the table, looking rather confined in the area. Nick was stirring a cup of tea absentmindedly, and beside him, Destiny sat with a lighter in her hands, fumbling with the switch. When she saw Levina enter, she jumped to her feet.

"Levina, look, here's the—the thing!" she said, delighted. "I found it behind some clutter in that drawer—it makes fire!"

"Be careful, dear," said Uncle Nick, peering up at her through his reading glasses. "You might burn yourself."

"That's a lighter," said Levina, but she was no longer looking at Destiny. Instead, she was watching Fred, her pink Pygmy puff, and Eric's own purple Pygmy Puff roll around on the floor playfully. The problem was, she couldn't stop thinking about Fred. When she thought about Fred, she thought about their relationship. When she thought about their relationship, she thought of Draco, and when she thought about Draco, she thought about that horrible night with the death eaters, and from there she thought of Dumbledore…

"Dozing off before take-off?" said Uncle Nick to Levina as she scooped up Fred and placed him in a cage.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to nap that long," said Levina, rubbing her eyes. She found that she slept during the day more and more as her nighttime terrors worsened.

"Are you two almost ready? They should be here fairly soon, and we'll have to go over to Mr. Potter's Muggle house."

"We _know, _Dad," said Destiny with an air of exasperation. She picked up Eric's Pygmy puff in one hand and tilted one head to the side thoughtfully. "Think Eric will want to bring him along?"

"Pack everything," said Uncle Nick. "I don't fancy returning to this Muggle hellhole after we—"

"_Dad!" _said Destiny sharply, turning to look at Levina with a nervous expression. Levina laughed.

"It's fine. Most Muggle homes are pretty small...but then, the Weasley's house is fairly cramped, too," she added.

Destiny shook her head, her pretty raven hair flying back and forth. "No, no! Their house is lovely…and I just cannot wait to see Georgie again!"

Levina rolled her eyes. In most of their free time at the Muggle house (Which they had a lot of), Destiny came up with different pet names for George Weasley, "Georgie" being one of her favorites.

But she had to admit it: She was quivering with excitement at the idea of seeing Fred Weasley again. She ran back upstairs, hastily checking her hair in the mirror (It was untamed from her sleep). She had already coaxed Lilypad into the same cage as Fred (Neither Lilypad nor Fred were happy about this arrangement, but they got along well enough), brought Athena into her own cage, gathered the last of her luggage, and dug her Firebolt out from under the bed. She was mostly excited about riding her broom again, since all summer the threat of Muggles seeing her on it had prevented her from setting foot in the backyard with it.

Levina dashed back downstairs and deposited the cages, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the stairs. She tucked the stray photographs into her jacket pocket as Destiny appeared at her shoulder, following suit. She noticed that most of her belongings (Save for the bag) had vanished, including her pets.

"Dad already took them away," said Destiny, looking at Levina's bemused expression. "He Apparated them to Mrs. Weasley's house, so…no worries."

Levina nodded. She was glad she didn't have to carry the three pets, mostly for their own safety.

Destiny flashed Levina small, sideways smile. "Ready?"

Levina opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment, there was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Levina jumped and hit her head on the low ceiling.

"Hurry now, hurry!" said Uncle Nicholas, waving his wands. He'd already re-located most of their belongings during the past week, so that they wouldn't have to carry as much.

The front door swung open and Hagrid materialized in the doorway, wearing a helmet and goggles.

"Hagrid—!" Levina began happily, moving to give him a hug, but Uncle Nick nudged her shoulder roughly.

"No time—hurry, to the other side of the street—use your color charms—"

Levina had discovered that she could use her color-changing charm on not only herself, but others (She regretted not turning Snape's hair purple when she had the chance) as well. It didn't last as long, but it worked well enough. She concentrated hard, looking between them, and watched as they vanished into the darkness.

They hastily ran across the street, awkwardly with their bags and cages hanging off of them and clanging as they went, but they made it into Harry's backyard just in time. A crowd of people awaited them, including The Chosen One himself. Hagrid moved toward an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached, checking the gas on it. All around them, other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

"Levina!" Levina barely had one word out before Harry, Ron, and Hermione had attacked her with lung-crushing hugs.

"All righ', Harry? Ready fer the off?" said Hagrid.

"Definitely," said Harry, beaming around at them all. "But I wasn't expecting this many of you!"

"Change of plan," growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let's get undercover before we talk you through it."

Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Harry's Aunt Petunia's gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances; Harry, bottle-green eyed and black-haired; Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and longhaired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Eric Levesque, with his handsome face and stunning gold eyes; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady hound's eyes and matted hair. Levina's heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: She felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom she had tried to strangle the last time they had met.

"Fred!" Levina flung herself into Fred's open arms, pressing her face up against his chest. She inhaled his familiar scent, ignoring how strange it must appear to him, and broke away, beaming.

"'Ello, good-lookin'," said Fred, bending to kiss Levina on her cheek. "All right?"

"Never been better," said Levina, but inside, she felt a swirl of unease. In their last conversation they'd had, he had basically called her an idiot and had begged her to be more careful. She prayed he wouldn't bring it up.

"Why, if it isn't Lev-Lev!" said George, throwing one arm around Levina's shoulder. "And Miss Fate!" he added, moving to give Destiny a peck on the cheek.

"'Fate?'" said Levina, looking from Destiny to George with raised eyebrows.

"Fate, Destiny," said George, grinning over at her. "All the same thing."

"Hey, you two," said Eric, moving out of the shadows to greet Levina and Destiny.

"Eric!" Destiny threw her arms around his neck happily. "Where have you been? Working with the Order?"

Eric nodded. "And contacting the dragon sanctuary."

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" Harry called across the room.

"He can get along without me for one night," said Kingsley, "You're more important."

"Harry, guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.

"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

"_What?" _said Levina, jerking her head to look at them. "Sorry. Just eavesdropping," she added.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry, it was very quiet."

"That's brilliant, congrat—"

"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later," roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely."

"Second problem: You're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"I don't—"

"The Trace, the Trace!" said Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters."

"We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you'll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks he's got you cornered good and proper."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can't detect, because we don't need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike."

Levina could see flaws in this plan; however, she held her tongue to give Mad-Eye the chance to address them.

"Now, your mother's charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or" –Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen—"you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you're never going to live together again, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"So this time, when you leave, there'll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We're choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen."

"The one thing we've got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn't know we're moving you tonight. We've leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you're not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we're dealing with, so we can't rely on him getting the date wrong; he's bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we've given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide you, they've all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley's place, Molly's, Auntie Muriel's—you get the idea."

"Yeah," said Harry.

"You'll be going to Tonks's parents. Once you're within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we've put on their house you'll be able to use a Portkey to the Burrow. Levina, you're going straight to the Weasleys'," he added to Levina, who looked up sharply at being addressed. "They'll probably assume you'll be wherever Harry's going. Any questions?"

"Er—yes," said Harry. "Maybe they won't know which of the twelve secure houses I'm heading for at first, but won't it be sort of obvious once" –he performed a quick headcount—"eighteen of us fly off toward Tonks's parents?"

"Ah," said Moody, "I forgot to mention the key point. Eighteen of us won't be flying to Tonks's parents. There will be nine Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house."

From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry obviously understood the rest of the plan immediately, from his expression.

"No!" he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"

"I told them you'd take it like this," said Hermione with a hint of complacency.

"If you think I'm going to let eight people risk their lives—!"

"—because it's the first time for all of us," said Ron.

"This is different, pretending to be me—"

"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."

Harry did not smile.

"You can't do it if I don't cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."

"Well, that's the plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."

"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," said Fred.

"Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."

"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Everyone here's overage, Potter, and they're all prepared to take the risk."

Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance at him out of the side of Moody's head.

"Let's have no more arguments. Time's wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now."

"But this is mad, there's no need—"

"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we're lucky he'll have swallowed the fake bait and he'll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he'd be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it's what I'd do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother's charm holds, but it's about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can't split himself into nine. And Levina is just as safe as you here, since she'll be disguised as you—Voldemort won't track her for her power if he thinks she's you."

Harry caught Levina's eye and looked away at once.

"So, Potter—some of your hair, if you please."

Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.

"Now!" barked Moody.

With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled.

"Good," said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please."

Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.

"Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron's raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you know what I mean—Goyle's potion tasted like bogies." Levina laughed into her sleeve.

"Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," said Moody.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Destiny, Levina, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia's gleaming sink.

"We're one short," said Lupin.

"Here," said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and George instead.

"I'm a soldier, I'd sooner be a protector," said Mundungus.

"Shut it," growled Moody. "As I've already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It'll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters'll want to kill them."

Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

"Altogether, then ..."

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Destiny, Levina, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione, Levina, and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Destiny, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione's and Fleur's appearing to shoot backward into their skulls. It felt quite strange, Levina thought, as her red hair receded and became black. She coughed, made a face at the repulsive taste, and blinked.

Her vision was blurred. Evidently Harry's vision was worse than she thought.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow—we're identical!"

"I dunno, though, I think I'm still better-looking," said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

"Bah," said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, "Bill, don't look at me—I'm 'ideous."

"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I've got smaller here," said Moody, indicating the first sack, "and vice versa. Don't forget the glasses, there's nine pairs in the side pocket. And when you're dressed, there's luggage in the other sack."

Levina rummaged in the sacks, pulling out a set of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing her own things away. She felt incredibly awkward as she stripped off her own clothing, and she couldn't help but stifle a giggle as she pulled off her bra—it was a strange feeling, not having a woman's chest, and she had to force herself to not think about anything else that had changed now that she was a guy. She hastily pulled on her jeans and examined herself in the mirror.

"I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.

"Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione, as she put on glasses.

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.

"Good," said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him. "The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom—"

"Why'm I with you?" grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

"Because you're the one that needs watching," growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, "Arthur and Fred—"

"I'm George," said the twin at whom Moody was pointing. "Can't you even tell us apart when we're Harry?"

"Sorry, George— "

"I'm only yanking your wand, I'm Fred really—"

"Enough messing around!" snarled Moody. "The other one—George or Fred or whoever you are— you're with Remus. Miss Delacour—"

"I'm taking Fleur on a thestral," said Bill. "She's not that fond of brooms."

Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that Levina hoped with all her heart would never appear on Harry's face again.

"Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral—"

Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley's smile; Levina knew that Hermione too lacked confidence on a broomstick.

"Levina and Eric—"

Eric flashed Levina an encouraging smile, and Levina couldn't help but feel at ease from his gorgeous face. Maybe it was the Siren charms rubbing off, but it made her feel more secure.

"Nicholas and Destiny—"

Destiny smiled over at her father.

"Which leaves you and me, Ron!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a mug tree as she waved at him.

Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.

"An' you're with me, Harry. That all righ'?" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious. "We'll be on the bike, brooms an' thestrals can't take me weight, see. Not a lot o' room on the seat with me on it, though, so you'll be in the sidecar."

"That's great," said Harry, but Levina sensed he wasn't telling the truth.

"We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom," said Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. "Snape's had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he's never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we're betting they'll choose one of the Potters who looks at home on a broomstick. All right then," he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters' clothes in it and leading the way back to the door, "I make it three minutes until we're supposed to leave. No point locking the back door, it won't keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking. Come on…"

Levina hurried to grab her Firebolt and bag before running outside. On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

"Is this it? Is this Sirius's bike?"

"The very same," said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. "An' the last time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!"

The side car placed Harry several feet below everybody else: Levina smirked at the sight of him sitting there like a child in a bumper car. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his feet and rammed Hedwig's cage between his knees. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and Levina was glad she had a broomstick.

"Stay close to me and you'll be fine," said Eric reassuringly, glancing sideways at Levina, who nodded, clenching her wand in her hand tightly.

"Arthur's done a bit o' tinkerin'," said Hagrid, quite oblivious to Harry's discomfort. He settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank inches into the ground. "It's got a few tricks up its sleeves now. Tha' one was my idea." He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.

"Please be careful, Hagrid." said Mr. Weasley, who was standing beside them, holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable and it's certainly only to be used in emergencies."

"All right, then." said Moody. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Everybody motioned their heads. "Hold tight now, Ron," said Tonks, and Levina saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Moody. "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One…two…THREE."

Levina rocketed fast into the night air and her hair lashed at her face like a whip, her eyes watering. Around her brooms were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a thestral flicked past. They were rising fast, and by the time she looked back down she could no longer tell which one Harry's house was.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the Order members had risen, oblivious—Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Eric gave a yell and she felt him bump roughly into her side as he raised his wand protectively. Everything erupted in chaos and Levina's broom began to spin out of control. Streetlights above her, yells around her, she was clinging onto her broom for dear life.

A flash of green shot just past Levina's right ear and she ducked, waving her wand frantically. She wanted to use the spells in her head, but everything was happening so fast that she couldn't concentrate. She could vaguely hear Harry shouting about something through the other various screams, something to Hagrid—

Levina shrieked as a spell ricocheted off of her broom, sending her rolling violently.

At least three Death Eaters had broken away from the group and were now hot on Levina's and Eric's trail. Eric looked nearly insane as he swung his wand left and right, his expression contorted in rage. She wondered if Lydia Russell was among the Death Eaters.

Levina swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with them; more curses shot after them, and she had to turn around roughly to shout, "Stupefy!" A red bolt of light shot from her own wand, and one of the Death Eaters fell back, spinning.

"Keep your eyes on me, Harry!" Eric bellowed, but she knew he was talking to her. "Follow me!"

More Killing Curses flew past Levina's head from the two remaining Death Eaters' wands; they were aiming for Eric. Levina shot spells straight back at them, trying to knock them away, but it was no use—they were gaining on them fast. Eric waved his wand wildly back at them. He wasn't saying anything any longer, but spells were colliding with the Death Eaters from his wand.

Levina cried out as a particularly white-hot sensation hit her left shoulder, knocking her sideways. She could feel warm blood ooze from the wound, and she had to hold tightly to her broomstick and continue forward, her eyes watering in pain. _It was just a bludger, it was just a bludger, _Levina told herself. _You're just in another game of Quidditch…A life and death game of Quidditch…_

Eric was yelling something, but Levina could hardly hear him through all of the spells being cast. She wondered what the Muggles below were thinking, seeing fireworks exploding in the middle of the sky.

"Lev—Harry!" Eric shouted. He pulled up behind her, blocking the jinxes trailing after her. She cursed loudly as one soared too close for comfort beside her, and her heart nearly stopped when she heard a yelp behind her.

She whirled around to look back; Eric was hanging limply off the side of his broom, his expression pained but his eyes determined. He shouted a curse back at the Death Eaters, and one of them was blasted straight from their broom.

"Eric!" called Levina, slowing down slightly.

"No—no!" Eric pulled up beside her, and up close, Levina could see a trail of blood going down his forehead to the bridge of his nose. "Keep moving, don't worry about me! Whatever you do, _don't stop."_

Determined, Levina, leaned forward on her broomstick, clenching it in her hands tightly. Her shoulder was throbbing in pain now, but she took Eric's orders and continued on, through the flashing green lights.

And then she saw her—the blond hair, the unmistakable wild blue eyes—Lydia Russell. Her hood had fallen away from her face, and there was no mistaking the predatory look in her eyes as she cast curses at Eric, who continually swerved left and right to avoid them. She hadn't even given Levina a second look. _Someone's got their priorities set, _thought Levina, turning to help Eric.

But Eric himself was slowing down, raising his wand in duel against Lydia. A twisted, dark look of malice had lit in his golden eyes, and every curse he shot at her was sent with revulsion. Levina had never seen Eric look more determined—or livid. But Levina knew all too well that he was no match for the Azkaban escapee, and he was going to get himself killed—

"Eric, _no!"_ Levina shouted. "It's not worth it—Eric!"

But then a rebounded curse struck Levina upside the head. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, but in the next moment, she felt herself soaring downwards, her short black hair flying upward, glasses askew. She was falling rapidly, at a fast pace—her broom and her bag were not far behind—and she grabbed blindly at the air, trying to return to it.

That's when Eric reappeared next to her, on his own broom. He pulled in close to her, grabbed her from under her back, and began to slow her pace with a wave of his wand. Evidently he was a man of his word, coming to her aid, considering he'd just given up the chance to wreak vengeance on the most hated woman in his eyes to help her from falling to her death.

And then it happened. Levina smashed hard into the ground and the wind was knocked out of her, as Eric, their brooms, and various luggage rained down around her.

* * *

**Hey, guys! Thanks for all of your support, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write, with all the action!**

**Flower gettin' Lady: Thanks; that seriously means a lot to me! I really appreciate that you've stuck with me for so long—and I'm sure that Levina does, too. It honestly does feel like an eternity ago that I started Book One…This is one of my favorite books in the series, and I'm incredibly excited to start on it!**

**Undapper Thoughts: Thank you for the review! And rest assured, I am currently in the process of putting all of my stories together on a document in case something happens to them. If anything does end up happening, I will be sure to leave a note on my profile saying where I will post my stories instead. I'm glad you like my stories enough to be concerned for their 'safety' :) Thanks!**

**Much love to everyone! See you in chapter two. **


	3. George's holey ear

**Good morning, evening, night, or afternoon to you all! **

**Disclaimer: I own Eric, Levina, Uncle Nicholas, and Destiny. So…yeah…**

* * *

"Eric?"

Levina struggled to raise herself off of the ground, and her voice came out in shallow breaths. She shakily got to her feet and collapsed sideways again, winded.

"All right?" Eric's voice mumbled back. Levina lifted her head in his direction, but all she could see was a dark figure lying crumpled on the ground, breathing steadily.

"Yeah, fine—" Levina felt the opposite of fine; her shoulder ached horribly—she was pretty sure the skin was torn—and she had a bloody lip. "You?"

"Been…better," Eric croaked, and the dark figure rolled over onto its hands and knees.

Levina heard screams. Through the dark, Levina saw Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running down the steps by the back door, their expressions frightened.

"Harry? You _are_ the real Harry?" Mrs. Weasley's voice was panicked.

"No—Levina—" Levina wheezed.

"What happened? Where are the others?" cried Mrs. Weasley.

"Wait—are we the first ones back?" panted Eric, who'd forced himself to his feet.

The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley's pale face.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Eric told her, "We were surrounded the moment we took off—they knew it was tonight—three of them went after us, but I'm not sure about the others, and then that Russell woman caught up—" He broke off, his voice malicious, and Levina couldn't help but feel guilty; had he not gone to save her arse, he could have fought her longer…But then again, would he have been killed?

"Levina got hit with a stray jinx, and she fell," Eric continued. "I was able to slow her down some, and we just crashed here."

"Thank goodness you're all right," she said, helping her to her feet and pulling her into a tight hug. Levina uttered a whimper of pain and she let go immediately, frightened. "Or _are _you all right—good heavens! Is that blood?" Mrs. Weasley had drawn her hand back from Levina's shoulders, and with it, a palm full of red liquid.

"Yeah—curse scraped my shoulder," said Levina with a grimace, "but I'm not—"

"No, no! Say no more—I'm going to—to get something for that—"

She hurried into the house and vanished, although she could have easily summoned whatever she needed—Levina had a feeling she just wanted to get away. She turned to Ginny.

"What's up? Where is everyone?"

"Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them," she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby. "You two were second. And that one," she pointed at an ancient sneaker, "should have been Dad and Fred's, they were supposed to be third. Harry and Hagrid were fourth and," she checked her watch, "if they made it, George and Lupin aught to be back in about a minute."

Suddenly, there was an enormous crash, and Ginny screamed. Hagrid's vehicle had smashed violently into the ground, along with the two passengers inside.

"Harry!" Levina cried, moving towards them.

"No, no, get inside!" Mrs. Weasley ordered, taking Levina roughly by her good shoulder. "There's some water and a wash cloth in the living room—go!"

Levina hesitated. She wanted to go to Harry, to see if he was all right, but there was absolutely no arguing with Mrs. Weasley. She and Eric went inside the house, limping and coughing as they went. When she reached the sofa, she found a bowl of fresh water on the table, with a couple of small hand towels. She picked one up gratefully and Eric began dabbing at her shoulder, earning a wince each time it made contact with her skin.

"Pretty deep," Eric commented as he wiped the washcloth over her wound.

"What about you?" said Levina, biting her lip so hard at the pain that it began to bleed again. "Anything that needs to be treated?"

"Maybe—maybe my leg," Eric grunted, putting the wet towel down so he could lift up his pant leg. And indeed, there was a deep gash going down his right leg, where a trickle of blood ran.

"You take it," said Levina, pushing the cloth away from her shoulder.

At that moment, Harry and Lupin staggered into the house, supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood.

"George!" Levina sprang to her feet and ran to help them, seizing his arms. Together, she, Harry, and Lupin carried over to the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George's head, Ginny gasped and Levina let out a small cry: One of George's ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son that Lupin grabbed Harry by the upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.

"Oi!" said Hagrid indignantly, "Le' go of him! Le' go of Harry!"

Lupin ignored him.

"What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?" he said, giving Harry a small shake. "Answer me!"

"A—a grindylow in a tank, wasn't it?"

Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.

"Wha' was tha' about?" roared Hagrid.

But Lupin advanced on Levina now, dragging her to her feet harshly. Levina cringed as his hands touched the torn skin on her shoulder.

"How did Levina Snowpetal find out that she was a Werewolf?" he demanded.

Evidently Levina's body had returned back to her own. "I—I—" She spluttered.

"How?" Lupin repeatedly loudly.

"I—you bit me!" Levina answered, wanting nothing more than for Lupin to take his hand off of her shoulder, which was burning. "And you said I couldn't be two types of Werewolves, just the one!"

Lupin released his grip on her and she staggered back.

"I'm sorry, Harry, Levina, but I had to check," said Lupin tersely. "We've been betrayed. Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor."

"So why aren' you checkin' me?" panted Hagrid, still struggling with the door.

"You're half-giant," said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. "The Polyjuice Potion is designed for human use only."

"None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight," said Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. "Voldemort only caught up with me toward the end, he didn't know which one I was in the beginning. If he'd been in on the plan he'd have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid."

"Voldemort caught up with you?" said Lupin sharply. "What happened? How did you escape?"

Harry explained how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the sanctuary of Tonks's parents.

"They recognized you? But how? What had you done?"

"I..." Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. "I saw Stan Shunpike... You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of—well, he doesn't know what he's doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!"

Lupin looked aghast.

"Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren't prepared to kill!"

"We were hundreds of feet up! Stan's not himself, and if I Stunned him and he'd fallen, he'd have died the same as if I'd used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago," Harry added defiantly.

"Yes, Harry," said Lupin with painful restraint, "and a great number of Death Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under the imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!"

"But he was under a curse!" said Levina, coming to Harry's aid.

"So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?" said Harry angrily.

"Of course not," said Lupin, "but the Death Eaters—frankly, most people! –would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!"

"I won't blast people out of my way just because they're there," said Harry, "That's Voldemort's job."

Lupin's retort was lost: Finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Hagrid staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath him. Ignoring his mingled oaths and apologies, Harry addressed Lupin again.

"Will George be okay?"

All Lupin's frustration with Harry seemed to drain away at the question.

"I think so, although there's no chance of replacing his ear, not when it's been cursed off—"

Levina covered a pathetic whimper that had edged its way into her throat. She gazed down at George, trying to keep her eyes from watering unsuccessfully. She wished it were her in his place—that she could take the pain away from—

There was a scuffling from outside. Lupin dived for the back door; Harry leapt over Hagrid's legs and sprinted into the yard.

Levina peered up at the window, but she couldn't see anything. Moments later, Kingsley, Harry, and Hermione appeared in the doorway. Hermione ran straight to Levina and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, which she sincerely hoped wasn't going to happen every time someone returned. "Er—Hermione—my shoulder…"

Hermione threw her hands up to her mouth apologetically. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't see that there, are you all right?"

"Fine, fine!" said Levina hotly. "I'm not the one you need to be worrying about…"

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Levina saw a clean gaping hole where George's ear had been.

"How is he?"

Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, "I can't make it grow back, not when it's been removed by Dark Magic. But it could've been so much worse...He's alive."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Thank God."

"_GEORGE!"_

Levina had never heard a more heart-breaking cry before. She looked up to see Destiny shoving her way into the kitchen, with Lupin shouting behind her, "Hey! I wasn't done asking you—"

Destiny threw herself down beside George, her expression pathetic. Against Mrs. Weasley's protests, she sobbed into his arm, kissing his forehead every other second. Levina could never remember a time in her life when she'd seen someone so terrified and dismal as Destiny looked. Perhaps it was the Siren in her—they were very good when it came to looking distressed—or perhaps it was just that she didn't see Destiny often upset over things, as she was usually cheerful.

"I'll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know what's good for you!"

Mr. Weasley burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.

"Fred!" Levina jumped to her feet. Fred turned to look at her, his anxious expression dissolving into relief as he saw her, and ran to his brother's side.

"Arthur!" sobbed Mrs. Weasley. "Oh thank goodness!"

"How is he?"

Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Levina had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin's wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing. Destiny respectfully moved aside so that his brother could move in.

Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father's arrival, George stirred.

"How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.

George's fingers groped for the side of his head.

"Saintlike," he murmured.

"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"

"Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see...I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred's pale face.

"Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?"

"Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum. Hello, beautiful," he added to Destiny, who promptly began to bawl even more. "Sorry I can't give you a proper greeting, given my current state."

He looked around.

"Hi, Harry—you are Harry, right?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.

"Well, at least we got you back okay," said George. "Hi, Levina, good to see you safe. Why aren't Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?"

"They're not back yet, George," said Mrs. Weasley. George's grin faded.

That's when Fred took Levina by surprise. He grabbed her around her lower back, evidently noticing the blood on her shoulder, and pressed his body tightly up against hers. For the first time since Levina had known him, she felt something wet on the right shoulder of her shirt.

Fred was…crying?

"You're okay," said Fred, who was trembling against Levina. "You're okay."

"And so are you," said Levina, biting back her own tears now welling up. "And George."

"I was so worried," said Fred, resting his face against her, "that you wouldn't—that you—"

"No, don't even think about it," said Levina, laying her chin on his shoulder. "Okay? You and I are okay, and I'm sure Ron is, too." But then why did Levina find herself holding back tears, feeling as though she were mostly reassuring herself of that?

"Is your shoulder all right?"

"It's—it's okay, I guess," said Levina.

Fred moved back from her shoulder and seized her by the front of her shirt, pulling her into a deep kiss. It wasn't exactly pretty—Levina had a bloody lip, and it stung to touch it against his, not to mention that they were both beginning to cry—but it was just what she needed right then. The two remained locked together, taking breaks only to breathe, until they heard the sound of something approaching the area fast, like a whooshing of brooms outside the window. They broke apart, startled.

"I'll go look," said Levina, "you go check on George."

Fred nodded and hurried back toward his twin, while Levina headed outside. The second she was down the front steps, a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground—

"It's them!" screamed Hermione.

Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.

"Remus!" Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin's arms. His face was set and white: He seemed unable to speak, Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione.

"You're okay," he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.

"I thought—I thought—

"'M all right," said Ron, patting her on the back. "'M fine."

Levina couldn't help but grin in spite of herself, watching Ron and Hermione holding each other. She just wished they would finally do something about it—their feelings for each other—and stop dancing around the truth so much.

_Oh, like a certain Gryffindor and Slytherin?_

Levina shocked herself with the sudden thought, and for a second she questioned whether it was even her own. _But that certain Gryffindor _does not _feel that way, nor does that Slytherin, _she told herself firmly.

"Ron was great," said Tonks warmly, breaking into Levina's inner war with herself as she relinquished her hold on Lupin. "Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom—"

"You did?" said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.

"Always the tone of surprise," he said a little grumpily, breaking free. "Are we the last back?"

"No," said Ginny, "we're still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron—"

She ran back inside.

"So what kept you? What happened?" Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks.

"Bellatrix," said Tonks. "She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I'd got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus... Then we got to Ron's Auntie Muriel's and we missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us—"

A muscle was jumping in Lupin's jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.

"So what happened to you lot?" Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, Levina, and Kingsley.

They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but all the time the continued absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore.

"I can't believe you _actually saw_ Voldemort," said Levina, gawking at Harry as she wiped tear stains and blood from her face.

"Yeah," said Harry softly, but his bottle green eyes were locked on the area where everyone was supposed to be returning. She followed his gaze silently, swallowing a lump of fear in her throat.

"I'm going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago," said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. "Let me know when they're back."

Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just beyond the Burrow's boundaries.

Mr. And Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them. Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Weasley, "for our sons."

"Don't be silly, Molly," said Tonks at once.

"How's George?" asked Lupin.

"What's wrong with him?" piped up Ron.

"He's lost—"

But the end of Mrs. Weasley's sentence was drowned in a general outcry. A thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back, windswept but unhurt.

"Bill! Thank God, thank God—"

Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, "Mad-Eye's dead."

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Levina felt as though something inside of her had broken off, as though she were falling downwards. She staggered slightly and Harry caught her by the arm.

"We saw it," said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. "It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort—he can fly—went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort's curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and—there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail—"

Bill's voice broke.

"Of course you couldn't have done anything," said Lupin.

They all stood looking at each other. Levina refused to believe it. Not Mad-eye—he couldn't be dead, it just wasn't possible.

At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing together. Destiny was sitting on the arm of the sofa, tending to George's wound, but smiling now nonetheless. Eric was standing in the corner with Uncle Nick, exchanging words silently under their breath.

"What's wrong?" said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered, "What's happened? Who's—?"

"Mad-Eye," said Mr. Weasley, "Dead."

Destiny gave a small gasp. The twins' grins turned to grimaces of shock. Eric jerked his head upright from his conversation, his eyes wide. Uncle Nicholas shook his head, his expression mournful. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some glasses.

"Here," he said, and with a wave of his wand, he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. "Mad-Eye."

"Mad-Eye," they all said, and drank.

"Mad-Eye," echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup.

Levina didn't touch her Fire-whisky. She knew she had her limitations to the drink, and there were some memories attached to it…memories of a certain Christmas party, with a certain blonde Slytherin, and a certain kiss—

"So Mundungus disappeared?" said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.

The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Levina, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

"I know what you're thinking," said Bill, "and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn't they? But Mundungus can't have betrayed us. They didn't know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you've forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn't he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it's as simple as that. He didn't want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic."

"You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to," sniffed Tonks. "Mad-Eye said he'd expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley... "

"Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Fleur, "but still eet does not explain 'ow zey know we were moving 'Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze 'ole plan."

She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief.

"No," Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised. "I mean...if somebody made a mistake," Harry went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he repeated, a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort."

More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry drank more of his firewhisky, and Levina ended up following suit, allowing the hot drink to burn her insides. She couldn't help it—the idea of Mad-eye being dead—the entire situation, in fact—was beginning to be too much for her. She drained her glass.

"Well said, Harry," said Fred unexpectedly.

"Year, 'ear, 'ear," said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to pitying.

"You think I'm a fool?" demanded Harry.

"No, I think you're like James," said Lupin, "who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends."

Lupin turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Bill, "There's work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether—"

"No," said Bill at once, "I'll do it, I'll come."

"Where are you going?" said Tonks and Fleur together.

"Mad-Eye's body," said Lupin. "We need to recover it."

"Can't it—?" began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

"Wait?" said Bill, "Not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters took it?"

Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said goodbye and left.

The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.

"I've got to go too," said Harry.

Fourteen pairs of startled eyes looked at him. Levina stared at him, both confused and surprised. Her brain felt fuzzy. She re-filled her glass of Firewhisky.

"Don't be silly, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "What are you talking about?"

"I can't stay here."

He rubbed his forehead.

"You're all in danger while I'm here. I don't want—"

"But don't be so silly!" said Mrs. Weasley. "The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur's agreed to get married here rather than in France, we've arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look after you—"

"If Voldemort finds out I'm here—"

"But why should he?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "He's got no way of knowing which safe house you're in."

"It's not me I'm worried for!" said Harry.

"We know that," said Mr. Weasley quietly, "but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left."

"Yeah, shut up, Harry," said Levina drowsily, and a few of the people in the room glanced over at her, eyebrows raised quizzically.

"Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Hagrid. "Blimey, Harry, after all we wen' through ter get you here?"

"Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" said George, hoisting himself up on his cushions.

"I know that—"

"Mad-Eye wouldn't want—"

"I KNOW!" Harry bellowed.

There was a long and awkward silence in which Levina drained her glass again, feeling a horrible yet soothing stir inside her. She blinked groggily.

"Where's Hedwig, Harry?" she said coaxingly. "We can put her up with Pidwidgeon and give her something to eat."

Harry's expression darkened and he drank the last of his firewhisky without answering.

"Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," said Hagrid. "Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!"

"It wasn't me," said Harry flatly. "It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord."

After a few moments, Hermione said gently, "But that's impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively."

"No," said Harry. "The bike was falling, I couldn't have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn't even a spell I recognized. I've never made gold flames appear before."

"Often," said Mr. Weasley, "when you're in a pressured situation you can produce magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they're trained—"

"It wasn't like that," said Harry through gritted teeth.

No one said anything.

Muttering about fresh air, Harry set down his glass and left the room. After a few seconds, Ron, Hermione, and Levina exchanged a look, then got to their feet and simultaneously headed for the door he'd exited through.

Levina tottered unsteadily down the steps as they gazed around the yard, looking for where Harry had gone. She wobbled into Ron, knocking him sideways.

"Levina?" Ron steadied her back into a standing position. "You all right?"

"What's it to you?" Levina muttered back, gazing up at him in annoyance.

Ron blinked once, bemused. "One drink too many?"

"No, don't worry…I don't drink," said Levina reassuringly, patting him on the back. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Harry?"

Harry stood shaking in the darkness, clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing, his scar still tingling. It was several moments before he seemed to realize that Ron, Levina, and Hermione were at his side.

"Harry, come back in the house," Hermione whispered, "You aren't still thinking of leaving?"

"Yeah, you've got to stay, mate," said Ron, thumping Harry on the back.

"Yeah," Levina echoed, swaying slightly, "Voldie might getcha!"

Harry stared at Levina, but he said nothing.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, close enough now to look into Harry's face. "You look awful!"

"Well," said Harry shakily, "I probably look better than Ollivander..."

When he had finished telling them what he had seen, Ron looked appalled, but Hermione downright terrified. Levina shook her head, trying to comprehend what she was saying. It was peculiar, but, for some reason—whether it be the lighting or the expression on his face—Harry looked quite amusing.

Levina giggled uncharacteristically and Harry frowned at her.

"How much Firewhiskey did you drink?" he demanded.

"None ya business," Levina retorted, annoyed. "Gosh, you're _so nosy, _Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're definitely tipsy."

"But it was supposed to have stopped!" Hermione interrupted as Ron yet again grabbed Levina's arm to keep her from falling. "Your scar—it wasn't supposed to do this anymore! You mustn't let that connection open up again—Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!"

When he did not reply, she gripped his arm.

"Harry, he's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding world! Don't let him inside your head too!"

Harry nodded, wincing slightly as he clapped one hand to his head. He remained silent.

"Well, let's go back inside, then," said Ron, moving beside Harry to guide him into the house. "You're—"

Levina gave a very loud hiccup, then promptly fell sideways in a dead faint.

….

The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; Levina kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. Levina felt horrible during the said time, partly due to the firewhiskey that she'd thrown up the morning of the night following Mad-eye's death, the other part due to how much pressure was falling into her shoulders. She had finally remembered what Harry was telling her, about the Horcruxes and such. This only made her more anxious.

"Well, you can't do anything about the" –Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes—"till you're seventeen. You've still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can't we? Or," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "d'you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"We'll just have to dig deeper, then," said Levina.

"I think Hermione's been doing a bit of research," said Ron. "She said she was saving it for when you got here."

They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley, Uncle Nicholas, and Bill had just left for work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had drifted off to take a bath. Destiny was drinking tea in the kitchen, while Eric was writing a letter in the living room, no doubt to the dragon sanctuary.

"The Trace'll break on the thirty-first," said Harry. "That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can—"

"Five days," Ron corrected him firmly. "We've got to stay for the wedding. They'll kill us if we miss it."

Levina understood "they" to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.

"It's one extra day," said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.

"Don't they realize how important—?"

"'Course they don't," said Ron. "They haven't got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that."

Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry and Levina.

"Mum's been trying to get it out of Hermione, Levina, and me." Levina nodded, recalling how Mrs. Weasley had grilled her the previous day for the truth—but Levina had conveniently brought up that her shoulder needed a new bandage, and was excused from the conversation. "What we're off to do. She'll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin've both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She's determined."

The prediction came true hours later, when Mrs. Weasley stopped Harry in the hallway. Levina snuck upstairs, where she found Destiny, sitting cross-legged in the twins' bedroom, playing with a stack of cards.

"Oh, hello," said Destiny cheerfully, peering up at Levina when she entered.

"Hey," said Levina, undoing the bandage on her shoulder with a wince. She was determined to get her shoulder healed up before they set out on their hunt for Horcruxes, as she did not want to slow them down any because of it.

"So. Going on a trip?"

Levina hesitated, her hand still on the doorway. "Beg pardon?"

"Not that it's any of my business," said Destiny calmly, returning to her card game, "and I won't get in the way, but…I know you're going somewhere. I don't know where or why, but I know."

Levina neither confirmed this nor put the idea down.

"But keep in mind, my dad and Eric might ask you questions."

Surprised, Levina spluttered for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "I—well—yeah."

Destiny nodded and spoke without looking up. "It's probably better if I don't know anything, for both of our safety."

"Yeah," Levina agreed in a soft voice. The thought of Death Eaters attempting to torture information out of Destiny made her stomach hurt.

"Although I'd avoid talking to Mrs. Weasley. She seems to think that with enough pressure, you guys'll crack."

From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Levina, Destiny, Ron and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook, Levina started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; she had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander.

And yet, Uncle Nicholas had not interrogated Levina even once. Either he had decided to look the other way, or he honestly did not know anything about their plans. Either way, Levina was fairly relieved by it; she did not want another awkward conversation in which she could not say the truth. Enough lies had been said already.

They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place's location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn.

"And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can't expect it to hold much longer."

"But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?" asked Harry.

"Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they'll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can't be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky."

The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. Levina found herself crammed beside Fred. Their knees touched under the table, and they smiled slightly at each other every now and then, but no other words were exchanged between them in the course of the meal.

"No news about Mad-Eye?" Harry asked Bill.

"Nothing," replied Bill.

They had not been able to hold a funeral for Moody, because Bill and Lupin had failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle.

"The Daily Prophet hasn't said a word about him dying or about finding the body," Bill went on. "But that doesn't mean much. It's keeping a lot quiet these days."

"And they still haven't called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?" Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head.

"Because they know I had no choice or because they don't want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked me?"

"The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn't want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban's seen a mass breakout."

"Yeah, why tell the public the truth?" said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin_: I must not tell lies._

"Is it really that bad of a thing to warn everyone?" said Levina, looking back and forth around the table.

"Isn't anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?" asked Ron angrily.

"Of course, Ron, but people are terrified," Mr. Weasley replied, "terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don't believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn't been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office all day; I just hope he's working on a plan."

There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the work surface and served apple tart.

"We must decide 'ow you two will be disguised, 'Arry, Lah-vina" said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. "For ze wedding," she added, when he looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."

Levina frowned in disappointment. She didn't want to disguise herself for the wedding—she had already picked out a dress to wear, and she'd even found a nice hairdo to try out.

"Yes, good point," said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment.

"Is it all right if I just use an invisibility spell?" Levina requested. When Mrs. Weasley looked critical, she added, "Harry's more wanted than me anyway. I'll make sure to redo it any time it starts to wear off—"

"Oh, all right," said Mrs. Weasley with a sigh. "Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?"

"Why?" exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother. "Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!"

"We are holding your brother's wedding here in a few days' time, young man—"

"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Ron furiously. "No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left—"

"Don't talk to your mother like that," said Mr. Weasley firmly. "And do as you're told."

Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart.

"I can help, some of it's my mess." Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across him.

"No, Harry, dear, I'd much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and Hermione, I'd be ever so grateful if you'd change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they're arriving at eleven tomorrow morning. And Levina, would you mind helping me wash some of these dishes? There'll be plenty to clean."

But as it turned out, it didn't take very long to clean them. With magic, Levina was hardly even needed; she just gave her wand a flick and watched as the dishes washed themselves, dried, and returned to the shelves on their own. She had a feeling it was just another one of Mrs. Weasley's sad attempts to keep all of them separated. When Mrs. Weasley left to finish some laundry, Levina slipped upstairs to Ron's bedroom. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already all in there, but only Hermione was cleaning. She had a pile of books in her arms which she was sorting into two enormous piles.

"Hi, Levina," she said as Levina knelt down to help.

"How come you two are up here?" she asked Hermione and Harry.

"Oh, Ron's mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets yesterday," said Hermione. She threw _Numerology and Grammatica_ onto one pile and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ onto the other.

"Mr. Weasley and I already finished with the chickens," said Harry. "What about you?"

"Dishes are all clean," said Levina, throwing _The Sirens' Lure _into one of the piles.

"We were just talking about Mad-Eye," said Ron. "I reckon he might have survived."

"But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse," said Harry.

"Yeah, but Bill was under attack too," said Ron. "How can he be sure what he saw?"

Levina nodded hopefully. "It was so confusing, with all the curses flying everywhere—he might have seen it wrong."

"Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet," said Hermione, now with _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ in her hand.

"He could have used a Shield Charm—"

"Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand," said Harry.

"Well, all right, if you want him to be dead," said Ron grumpily, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

"She doesn't mean it like that, Ron," said Levina.

"Of course we don't want him to be dead!" said Hermione, looking shocked. "It's dreadful that he's dead! But we're being realistic!"

"The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that's why no one's found him," said Ron wisely.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in Hagrid's front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him—"

"Don't!" squealed Hermione, and Levina gave a small yelp at Harry's statement. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see Hermione burst into tears over her copy of _Spellman's Syllabary._

"Oh no," said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. "Hermione, I wasn't trying to upset—"

But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got there first. One arm around Hermione, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, "Tergeo."

The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself, Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione.

"Oh...thanks, Ron...I'm sorry..." She blew her nose and hiccupped. "It's just so awf-ful, isn't it? R-right after Dumbledore...I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!"

"Yeah, I know," said Ron, giving her a squeeze. "But you know what he'd say to us if he was here?"

"'C-constant vigilance,'" said Hermione, mopping her eyes, and Levina had to fight the urge to laugh, as she recalled him saying the line so much.

"That's right," said Ron, nodding. "He'd tell us to learn from what happened to him. And what I've learned is not to trust that cowardly little git, Mundungus."

Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped _The Monster of Monsters_ on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Ron's ankle.

"_Agh!" _Levina sprang up from the ground away from it, swatting at it with an old newspaper.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Ron's leg and retied it.

"What are you doing with all those books anyway?" Ron asked, limping back to his bed.

"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Hermione, "When we're looking for the Horcruxes."

"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."

"Ha ha," said Hermione, looking down at Spellman's Syllabary. "I wonder...will we need to translate runes? It's possible…I think we'd better take it, to be safe."

"Yeah, that sounds likely," said Levina sarcastically. "Jeez, how many books are you taking? And is that a Werewolf book?" she added, picking one of them up off the stack before shooting her a raised-eyebrow look.

"Well…yes," said Hermione nervously as she dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up _Hogwarts, A History. _"I—I just thought, should something go wrong with your, erm, condition—"

Levina tapped her aquamarine necklace with her index finger. "No worries, Hermione. Besides, I've already read every book there is about Werewolves."

"Listen," said Harry.

He had sat up straight. Ron, Levina, and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of resignation and defiance.

"I know you said after Dumbledore's funeral that you wanted to come with me," Harry began.

"Here he goes," Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes.

"Don't even bother, Harry," said Levina, returning to the book stack.

"We knew he would. You know, I think I will take _Hogwarts, A_ _History._ Even if we're not going back there, I don't think I'd feel right if I didn't have it with—"

"Listen!" said Harry again.

"No, Harry, _you_ listen," said Hermione. "We're coming with you. That was decided months ago—years, really."

"But—"

"Shut up," Ron advised him.

"—are you sure you've thought this through?" Harry persisted.

"Only every hour of every day," said Levina.

"Let's see," said Hermione, slamming _Travels with Trolls_ onto the discarded pile with a rather fierce look. "I've been packing for days, so we're ready to leave at a moment's notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye's whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron's mum's nose.

"I've also modified my parents' memories so that they're convinced they're really called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life's ambition is to move to Australia, which they have now done. That's to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them down and interrogate them about me—or you, because unfortunately, I've told them quite a bit about you.

"Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I'll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don't—well, I think I've cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don't know that they've got a daughter, you see."

Hermione's eyes were swimming with tears again. Levina leaned against her reassuringly and Ron got back off the bed, put his arm around her once more, then frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack of tact.

"I—Hermione, I'm sorry—I didn't—"

"Didn't realize that Ron, Levina, and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what you've done."

"Nah, he's just eaten," said Ron.

"Go on, he needs to know!"

"What, what?" said Levina, not yet let in on this idea.

"Oh, all right. Harry, come here."

For the second time Ron withdrew his arm from around Hermione and stumped over to the door.

"C'mon."

"Why?" Harry asked, following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing. Levina got to her feet and moved behind them.

"Descendo," muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open drains.

"That's your ghoul, isn't it?" asked Harry.

"The…what?" Levina demanded. She thought that they were kidding about the ghoul—she'd never actually met the creature, but they said it sometimes disrupted the nightly silence.

"Yeah, it is," said Ron, climbing the ladder. "Come and have a look at him."

Levina followed them up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. Her head and shoulders were in the room before she caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.

"Ew," said Levina.

"But it...it looks...do ghouls normally wear pajamas?" said Harry.

"No," said Ron. "Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules."

The creature was human in shape and size, and was wearing what, now that Levina's eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly an old pair of Ron's pajamas. She was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters.

"He's me, see?" said Ron.

"No," said Harry. "I don't."

"You seriously think that looks like you?" said Levina. "Wow, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Ron."

"I'll explain it back in my room, the smell's getting to me," said Ron. They climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books.

"Once we've left, the ghoul's going to come and live down here in my room," said Ron. "I think he's really looking forward to it—well, it's hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool—but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he's going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?"

Levina and Harry stared at him.

"It is!" said Ron, clearly frustrated that they had not grasped the brilliance of the plan. "Look, when we four don't turn up at Hogwarts again, everyone's going to think we must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight for our families to see if they've got information on where you are."

"But hopefully it'll look like I've gone away with Mum and Dad; a lot of Muggle-borns are talking about going into hiding at the moment," said Hermione.

"We can't hide my whole family, it'll look too fishy and they can't all leave their jobs," said Ron. "So we're going to put out the story that I'm seriously ill with spattergroit, which is why I can't go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Mum or Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit's really contagious, so they're not going to want to go near him. It won't matter that he can't say anything, either, because apparently you can't once the fungus has spread to your uvula."

"And your mum and dad are in on this plan?" asked Harry.

"Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum...well, you've seen what she's like. She won't accept we're going till we're gone."

"What about me?" said Levina in a hushed voice. "What about my family? Sure, they're not my mum and dad, but—"

"Taken care of," said Ron confidently.

"What? How?" said Levina, confused.

"That's my doing," said Eric, shouldering his way into the room.

Levina couldn't be any more bemused. "Eric? Wha—?"

"Not just Muggle-borns are being targeted. Half-breeds like Werewolves are, too."

"So?"

"So," said Eric, bending low to not hit his head on the ceiling, "Dad, Destiny, and I are taking you out of school, for 'your own safety'. The story is that you are coming back with me to Romania, to help with the dragons for the time being, since you're already fluent in Draconian. We can easily brew up some polyjuice," he added, reaching for a stray hair on Levina's shoulder.

"Absolutely not!" said Levina, slapping his hand away. "I'm not going to put you lot in danger by—"

"Trust me, we were in more danger before," said Eric. "Look, just stick with it, all right?"

Levina sighed. She had to admit it: It would be safer for both of them if they went under this plan, but she couldn't help but have the desire to argue. She clamped her mouth shut. "Fine."

* * *

**Hey, guys! Sorry for the semi-abrupt ending; I got way too carried away with my typing and didn't realize I had written so much, so I had to divide up a few things. Anyway…**

**Flower gettin' Lady: Thanks so much! I had fun writing the bit with Destiny and the lighter, even if it was a small scene. Glad you liked it! And trust me, I know…Even **_**I'm **_**struggling with Levina, Draco, and Fred. Gah! It's so hard to balance them. As for Levina's mom? Sort of…it wasn't the same sort of protective charm that Harry's mom used, but she did leave Levina with a "mother's blessing" sort of spell, to keep her safe. As for Eric, I'm glad he's alive, too haha :) And well, one of my other reviewers brought to my attention that since my stories are mainly just edits of the real books, they have the potential to be taken down. Considering we're already on Book 7, I find it unlikely that it should happen, but I'm being careful. Thanks again! (Whew…that was a long reply!)**

**Love all of you! See you in the next chapter :)**


	4. Wedding preparations and an old snitch

**Sorry for the wait on this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't know anyone out there who still thinks that after seven stories of disclaimers, I still own Harry Potter, but still. I don't. (:**

* * *

There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw books onto one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked around at them silently. Eric shouldered his way back out of the room, and Levina returned to the book stack with Hermione.

Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Mrs. Weasley shouting from four floors below.

"Ginny's probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Ron. "I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding."

"Fleur's sister's a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she's too young to come on her own," said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over _Break with a Banshee._

"Well, guests aren't going to help Mum's stress levels," said Ron.

"What we really need to decide," said Hermione, tossing _Defensive Magical Theory_ into the bin without a second glance and picking up _An_ _Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, "is where we're going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric's Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but... well... shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"

"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," said Harry.

"Don't you think there's a possibility that Voldemort's keeping a watch on Godric's Hollow?" Hermione asked. "He might expect one or both of you two to go back and visit your parents' graves once you're free to go wherever you like?"

This had not occurred to Levina. Not once had she ever visited her parents' graves before (She felt slightly guilty inside), and it would be the perfect opportunity to do it. While Harry struggled to find a counterargument, Ron spoke up, evidently following his own train of thought.

"That's a distinct possibility," said Levina.

"This R.A.B. person," said Harry. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"

Hermione and Levina nodded.

"He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"

Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.'s note was still folded.

"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.'" Harry read out.

"Well, what if he did finish it off?" said Ron.

"Or she." Interposed Hermione, and Levina rolled her eyes.

"Whichever," said Ron. "it'd be one less for us to do!"

"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Hermione, "to find out whether or not it's destroyed."

"We can't just go by assumptions, Ron," said Levina.

"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Ron.

"Well," said Hermione, "I've been researching that."

"How?" asked Harry. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"

"There weren't," said Hermione, who had turned pink. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he—he didn't destroy them."

"Wait, what?" said Levina.

Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.

"How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"

Levina shot him a weird look. "'Merlin's _pants'_?"

"It—it wasn't stealing!" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. "They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure he would have made it much harder to—"

"Get to the point!" said Ron.

"Well... it was easy," said Hermione in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know—Accio. And—they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"Oh. That." Levina felt like slapping herself upside the head; she had recalled that day when a bunch of books had zoomed into the dorm through the window, shattering it and startling the hell out of Levina, who was packing her stuff up to leave school.

"You told me you were just summoning some books you'd accidentally left at the funeral!" said Levina hotly.

"I knew you would get upset and accuse me of stealing Dumbledore's stuff," said Hermione apologetically. "You were already pretty rattled."

"But when did you do this?" Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

"Just after his—Dumbledore's—funeral," said Hermione in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to get my things it—it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be...and I was alone in there, besides Levina...so I tried...and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I—I packed them."

She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Can you hear us complaining?" said Ron. "Where are these books anyway?"

Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.

"This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art -it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library...if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here."

"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" asked Ron.

"He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into seven," said Harry. "Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think you're right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he got the information."

"And the more I've read about them," said Hermione, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"

"Well, he is a pretty unstable guy," said Levina.

"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Ron asked.

"Yes," said Hermione with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."

"Why? How do you do it?" asked Harry.

"Remorse," said Hermione. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

"No," said Ron, before Levina could answer. "So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?"

"Yes," said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Harry did to Riddle's diary was one of the few really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?" asked Harry.

"Oh well, lucky we've got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then," said Ron. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."

"It doesn't have to be a basilisk fang," said Hermione patiently. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare—"

"—phoenix tears," said Harry, nodding.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."

"So let's just pick up some basilisk fangs," said Levina with an offhanded shrug.

"Not that simple," said Hermione.

"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Ron, "why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"

"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being."

Seeing that Harry, Levina, and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on. "Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."

"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Ron. Harry and Levina laughed.

"It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched," said Hermione. "But it's the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can't exist without it."

"That diary sort of died when I stabbed it," said Harry, and Levina remembered the ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemort's soul as it vanished. She gave an involuntary shudder.

"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new."

"Hang on," said Ron, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"

"While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don't mean holding it for too long, it's nothing to do with touching it," she added before Ron could speak. "I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You're in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux."

"Hence why you just shouldn't make them," said Levina, shaking her head. "Wizards these days…"

Harry laughed. "But I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring?…Why didn't I ask him? I never really..."

His voice trailed away.

The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Levina sprung up a foot in the air, drawing her wand; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; Harry dove for his wand before evidently realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.

"I'm so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sure you all need your rest...but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."

"Oh yes," said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction. "we will...we're sorry..."

With an anguished look at Levina, Harry, and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.

"Brings back bad memories of Aunt Ashby," said Levina, returning her wand to her pocket.

"It's like being a house-elf," complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he, Levina, and Harry followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier, I'll be."

"And with clothes," said Levina. "Although I'm not sure Dobby was exactly happy when he was working for the Malfoy's—" Levina's voice shook on the last word. Harry looked sidelong at her, studying her face.

"Yeah," said Harry, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes...It'll be like a holiday, won't it?"

Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley's room, stopped quite abruptly.

…

The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o' clock. Harry, Levina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and even Destiny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur's family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, Harry attempted to flatten his hair, and Levina gave in to Destiny's pleas and used some makeup and hair curlers. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.

Levina had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up. Levina half-missed the presence of the usual gnomes running around.

She had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all she knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who could be Fleur's mother.

"Maman!" cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. "Papa!"

Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head shorter and extremely plump, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.

"You 'ave been so much trouble," he said in a deep voice. "Fleur tells us you 'ave been working very 'ard."

"Oh, it's been nothing, nothing!" trilled Mrs. Weasley. "No trouble at all!"

Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.

"Ah, and 'ow is my dear Dez-teeny?" said Madam Delacour. Destiny looked slightly frightened as the woman approached her, kissing each of her cheeks. "I 'ave not seen you since you were just a child! You look lovely, dear."

"Merci," said Destiny, flushing red.

"Eez your father 'ere?"

"Oui, Papa is in the kitchen," said Destiny. "He'll be looking forward to seeing you again."

Levina raised her eyebrows at Destiny, who added, "Oh, our parents met when they picked us up from Beauxbatons Academy. We had dance class together, remember?"

"Right," said Levina. "Old friends, then?"

Destiny nodded. "Don't worry, they're not that bad."

"Dear lady!" said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley's hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. "We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline."

Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.

"Enchant'e," she said. "Your 'usband 'as been telling us such amusing stories!"

Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.

"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!" said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly and Levina covered a smirk.

"Well, come in, do!" said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "After you!'s and "Not at all!'s.

The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids' shoes "Charmant!" Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.

On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour's protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy's old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania (Eric had called him and his apprentice in). Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Levina, Harry, Ron and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.

"But she still won't leave us alone!" snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.

"At this rate, we'll have to send owls to each other," said Levina with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, good, you've fed the chickens," she called as she approached them. "We'd better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow...to put up the tent for the wedding," she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. "Millamant's Magic Marquees...they're very good. Bill's escorting them...You'd better stay inside while they're here, Harry, Levina. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place."

"Er...sorry, I don't mean to complicate things," said Levina apologetically.

"I'm sorry," said Harry humbly.

"Oh, don't be silly, dears!" said Mrs. Weasley at once. "I didn't mean—well, your safety's much more important! Actually, I've been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it's an important day..."

"Oh yeah!" said Levina, turning to smile at Harry. She'd forgotten about him turning seventeen, what with everything that had happened.

"I don't want a fuss," said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put on them all. "Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine...It's the day before the wedding..."

"Oh, well, if you're sure, dear. I'll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?"

"That'd be great," said Harry. "But please, don't go to loads of trouble."

"Not at all, not at all...It's no trouble..."

She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Levina watched as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up.

…

_"What? You're telling me that you're just frickin' pulling my leg again? What the hell is wrong with—?"_

_"That's not what I meant!" said Draco quickly._

_"Then what? Just spit it out already!" said Levina hotly._

_But Draco didn't say anything. Instead, he did something different. Much different. He moved slowly forward, his cloak billowing about him, so that they were face-to-face, and leaned in, his head inclined toward hers._

_"DRACO!" _

Snape's voice echoed through Levina's head and she jerked upright in her bed. She was lying on the floor, tangled up in her sheets, in Ron's dingy attic room, and someone had been shaking her side. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. Levina's face was damp with sweat, hot from Draco's breath—

"I wasn't dreaming anything!" she said defensively.

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her. He was standing over her; evidently he was the one who woke her up. "I didn't say that you were…?"

"Oh. Oh…well, right." Levina shook her head twice, trying to clear it. She was beginning to grow sick of the constant dreams about the blonde Slytherin boy, sick of all the memories…

Harry did not have his glasses on, but he was staring at her nonetheless silently. She was thankful that he didn't interrogate her—in fact, he hadn't brought up Draco once to her since the incident, hadn't rubbed it in her face. She almost wished that he would; maybe she would feel better if he did. She had, after all, ignored his many claims that Draco was up to something, and had heavily defended him time and time again.

Letting him know that she was dreaming about the Slytherin practically every night probably wouldn't go over well.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Seventeen," said Levina vaguely as she pried herself out of her bedcovers.

"Thanks," said Harry, beaming over at her.

"I'm surprised you didn't wake up sooner; he keeps sending all my stuff flying around the room, now that he's allowed to do magic."

"Oh, nice. Having fun?" said Levina, grinning as she scanned the room, where clutter lay strewn about now. "When I turned seventeen, the first thing I did was finally clean my closet. It went a lot quicker."

Lilypad lay curled up on the floor, under a fallen newspaper, looking incredibly annoyed, with raised black hair. Noticing Levina's raised eyebrows, Ron added, "Yeah, he also moved your cat around a bit."

"She didn't mind it," said Harry quickly, but Levina merely laughed.

"It's all right, Harry. She deserved it; yesterday she bit my finger when I tried to take Draco's shoelace from—" She broke off, her eyes darting to Harry as though she thought he might suddenly begin using "I-told-you-so's" about Draco.

Merlin, she was really losing it…

Harry seemed unfazed. "So, presents?"

"Oh yeah! I got you this," said Levina, passing him a large parcel draped in ribbon. He eagerly tore into it, and his expression brightened.

"Some treacle tarts," said Levina, shrugging. "And a quaffle signed by our entire Quidditch team. No biggie."

"Wow! Levina, this is amazing!" said Harry, picking up the quaffle and turning it over and over again, examining the signatures. She'd gotten Fred, Ron, and George to sign it as well, and she even managed to get Oliver Wood to sign it; being the cousin of a wealthy girl who knew a lot of people through her father tended to pay off. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Levina with a grin. Harry moved on to Ron's gift.

"A book?" said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. "Bit of a departure from tradition, isn't it?"

"This isn't your average book," said Ron, sheepishly looking over at Levina. "It'd pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I'd had this last year I'd have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would've known how to get going with...Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned a lot. You'd be surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either."

Levina rolled her eyes. "Really, Ronald?"

"Hey, I'm sure you'd be glad if you had one on charming wizards!" said Ron defensively.

"Don't need one. I've already somehow managed to 'charm' my own wizard," she said with a wink, thinking of Fred.

When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.

"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. "He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our present on top."

Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Levina peered over his shoulder. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.

"It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," said Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. "I'm afraid that one isn't new like Ron's, it was actually my brother Fabian's and he wasn't terribly careful with his possessions, it's a bit dented on the back, but—"

The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. She patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. "It's not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?" she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.

"Come on, then, open Hermione's!" said Ron.

She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur ("Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever 'ave," Monsieur Delacour assured him, "but you must tell it clearly what you want...ozzerwise you might find you 'ave a leetle less hair zan you would like..."), chocolates from the Delacours, assorted candies and a some enchanted shoes from the Levesques ("They're made to guarantee that you'll never have sore feet again, nor any blisters," said Destiny cheerfully), and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.

Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.

"I'll pack these for you," Hermione said brightly, taking Harry's presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. "I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron—"

Ron's splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.

"Harry, will you come in here a moment?"

It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Levina followed closely behind them, grinning down at Harry as he nervously followed Ginny.

"Oh, Ronald, leave them be!" groaned Hermione as Ron attempted to push past her.

"I don't—trust them—" said Ron crossly, pulling her arms away. "What's he doing—messing around with her now—?"

"Ron, you can't keep your sister from doing what she wants," said Levina, annoyed as she took him by the shoulders, holding him back.

"Harry broke things off with her already—he shouldn't be—"

"Harry's your best mate," said Levina reasonably. "Do you really want to ruin their moment, on his birthday?"

Ron hesitated, and for a moment it seemed he might actually re-consider. Levina let go of his shoulders, and the second he was free, he bolted back down the stairs.

"_Ron!" _Levina and Hermione shouted after him indignantly. They made chase behind him, closing in at his heels, but it was too late; Ron flung Ginny's bedroom door open, where inside, Ginny and Harry were locked together in a passionate kiss. They broke apart almost instantly.

"Oh," said Ron pointedly. "Sorry."

"Ron, you arse!" Levina barked, skidding to a halt beside him.

There was a strained silence, then Ginny had said in a flat little voice, "Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry."

Ron's ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous. Harry looked as though he wanted nothing more than to slam the door in their faces, but instead, he said to Ginny, "I'll see you later," and followed the other three out of the bedroom.

Ron marched downstairs, though the still-crowded kitchen and into the yard, and Harry kept pace with him all the way, Levina following closely, Hermione trotting along behind them looking scared.

Once he reached the seclusion of the freshly mown lawn, Ron rounded on Harry.

"You ditched her. What are you doing now, messing her around?"

"I'm not messing her around," said Harry, as Hermione and Levina caught up with them.

"Ron—"

But Ron held up a hand to silence Hermione.

"She was really cut up when you ended it—"

"So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn't because I wanted to."

"Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she's just going to get her hopes up again—"

"She's not an idiot, she knows it can't happen, she's not expecting us to—to end up married, or—"

"Ron, be reasonable—"

"If you keep groping her every chance you get-"

"It won't happen again," said Harry harshly. "Okay?"

Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish; he rocked backward and forward on his feet for a moment, then said, "Right then, well, that's...yeah."

Ginny did not seek another one-to-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day, nor by any look or gesture did she show that they had shared more than polite conversation in her room. Nevertheless, Charlie's arrival seemed to come as a relief to Harry. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut.

As Harry's birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow's kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley's ministrations, George's wound was neat and clean, but Levina was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins' many jokes about it.

Destiny made the best of it, laughing along with the jokes and affectionately running a finger along the edges of the hole in his head, saying, "Now you can't switch places on me anymore, Georgie."

Fred mockingly dragged his index finger around Levina's own ear, causing her to giggle and play-punch him away. She was glad that she could finally relax around him now, and it was much easier to talk with him, alone or not. It felt almost like old times.

Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

"Nice," said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. "You've really got an eye for that sort of thing."

"Thank you, Ron!" said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused. Levina turned away, smiling to herself She had a funny feeling that, if she were to read Harry's new book on charming witches, she would find a chapter on compliments.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Levina realized belatedly that it was a cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, "That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the thumbs-up and mouthed, 'Good one'. Levina grinned.

By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit, bringing back bad memories of Levina's fourth year, with the smell of his horrible cologne. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry's hand, Levina thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked simply radiant.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, hugging him tightly.

"Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. "Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d'yeh remember it?"

"Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn't you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig's tail, and tell me I was a wizard?"

"I forge' the details," Hagrid chortled. "All righ', Ron, Levina, Hermione?"

"Always am," said Levina.

"We're fine," said Hermione. "How are you?"

"Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns. I'll show yeh when yeh get back—" Levina avoided Ron's, Harry's, and Hermione's gazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket. "Here. Harry—couldn't think what ter get teh, but then I remembered this." He pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. "Mokeskin. Hide anythin' in there an' no one but the owner can get it out. They're rare, them."

"Hagrid, thanks!"

"'S'nothin'," said Hagrid with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. "An' there's Charlie! Always liked him—hey! Charlie!"

Charlie approached, side-by-side in conversation with Eric, running his hand slightly ruefully over his new, brutally short haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his muscled arms.

"Hi, Hagrid, how's it going?"

"Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norbert doin'?"

"Norbert?" Charlie laughed. "The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta now."

"Wha—Norbert's a girl?"

"Oh yeah," said Charlie.

"How can you tell?" asked Hermione, and Levina smirked.

"Even _I _know how, Hermione—"

"They're a lot more vicious," said Charlie, rolling his eyes at Levina. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. "Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum's getting edgy."

They all looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk to Madame Delacour while glancing repeatedly at the gate.

"So, when's Miss Mira-Mira getting here?" said Charlie, elbowing Eric in the ribs. Eric scowled at him, but he was half-smiling.

"Shut up. She's not getting here till the wedding you know that, mate—"

"Ah, right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind, you know, when Mira-Mira was supposed to arrive."

"I'm going to jinx you so hard that—"

"I think we'd better start without Arthur," Mrs. Weasley called to the garden at large after a moment or two, cutting across Eric. "He must have been held up at—oh!"

They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley's voice.

"Minister of Magic coming with me."

The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

"Wait…what?" said Levina, simply bemused.

"We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry—I'm sorry—I'll explain some other time—"

He seized Tonks's wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.

"The Minister—but why—? I don't understand—"

But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.

The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light. Levina saw that he looked much older than the last time they had met, scraggy and grim.

"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party."

His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake.

"Many happy returns."

"Thanks," said Harry dully.

"I require a private word with you," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Levina Snowpetal, and Miss Hermione Granger."

"What for?" said Fred, drawing a protective arm around Levina's shoulders.

"Us?" said Ron, sounding surprised. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," said Scrimgeour. "Is there such a place?" he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. "The, er, sitting room, why don't you use that?"

"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said to Ron. "There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur."

Levina saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as Ron, Hermione, and Ron got to their feet. When Fred didn't lessen his grip on her, Levina pulled away, placing one hand on his arm reassuringly.

"It's all right," she said, looking him directly in the eye. "I promise I won't lose my temper."

"I know…This just seems suspicious." Fred released his arm from her shoulders and she followed the trio into the house silently. The only thing Levina could think of was that Scrimgeour must have, somehow, learned that the four of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts. She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat.

Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messed kitchen and into the Burrow's sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark in here; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as they entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Levina, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.

"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three"—he pointed at Harry, Levina, and Hermione— "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."

"We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione and Levina nodded vigorously in sync. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."

Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Levina had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early, and she felt prepared to defend herself if need be, but there was also the fact that she had to keep herself from getting fired up, as she promised Fred.

"Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."

Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione looked at one another. His _will? _He'd mentioned her in his will?

"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"

"A-all of us?" said Ron, "Me, Levina, and Hermione too?"

"Yes, all of—"

But Harry interrupted.

"Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.

"I had every right," said Scrimgeour dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power the confiscate the contents of a will—"

"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," said Hermione, "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?"

"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.

"No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"

"You don't have to be Sherlock to know basic laws," said Levina.

Ron laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke, but Levina had a feeling that neither Ron nor Scrimgeour knew who Sherlock was.

"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"

"No, it'll be because thirty-one days are up," said Hermione at once. "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"

"Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled.

"Me? Not—not really...It was always Harry who..."

Had they been sitting at a table, Levina would have kicked Ron's leg under it. Ron looked around at Harry, Levina, and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done; Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron's answer.

"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions—his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects—were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?"

"I...dunno," said Ron. "I...when I say we weren't close...I mean, I think he liked me..."

"You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."

"Yeah, you were always one of his favorites," Levina chimed in.

This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Levina knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'...Yes, here we are... 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"

Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Levina had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, she knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.

_Why in Merlin would Dumbledore leave his Deluminator to Ron? _Thought Levina, puzzled.

"That is a valuable object," said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you and item so rare?"

Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.

"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour persevered. "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you four. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put to the Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"

"Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"

Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or tow, he turned back to Dumbledore's will.

"'To Miss Levina Nadia Snowpetal, I leave my Wary-Bangle, in the hope that she may learn to be a little more trusting of others.'"

"It…what?" said Levina, staring blankly at him as he pulled out the bag a small bracelet. It was black, with delicate, ancient engravings carved into it. Levina hesitantly took it from his hand, but she couldn't help but feel slightly anticlimactic.

"These are very rare, much more so than the common Sneakoscope," said Scrimgeour, eyeing Levina as though she had known she would be recieiving it. "Much more difficult to come by. Their purpose is to heat up against the user's skin when someone mistrustful is near, making it much more efficient and quieter than the Sneakoscope. Why do you think Dumbledore would leave you such an item, Miss Snowpetal?"

"To…trust people?" said Levina, turning the bracelet over and over again in her hands. It felt like some sort of metal, and it was very cold against her skin. Sure, she wasn't exactly an open book around most people, but she didn't think she was a very suspicious person.

Scrimgeour stared at her, as though wondering whether she was hiding something, then continued the will.

"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"

Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Levina saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As she looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.

"He...he knew I liked books," said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

"But why that particular book?"

"I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."

"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"

"No, I didn't," said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will."

She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders. Scrimgeour turned back to the will.

"'To Harry James Potter,'" he read, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"

As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Levina couldn't help but feel as though his was the least exciting, considering he knew Dumbledore the best.

"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimgeour.

"No idea," said Harry. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose...to remind me what you can get if you...persevere and whatever it was."

"You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"

"I suppose so," said Harry. "What else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge.

"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch," Scrimgeour said to Harry. "Why is that?"

Hermione laughed derisively.

"Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that's way too obvious," she said. "There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!"

"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," said Scrimgeour, "but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"

"What, like a peanut?" said Levina, eyeing the tiny Snitch critically.

Ron laughed and Harry shrugged, but Hermione, however, answered:

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

"What?" said Harry, Levina, and Ron together; all three of them considered Hermione's Quidditch knowledge negligible.

"Correct," said Scrimgeour. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch" –he held up the tiny golden ball—"will remember your touch, Potter.

"It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you."

Levina's heart was beating rather fast. She was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could Harry avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister?

"You don't say anything," said Scrimgeour. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?"

"No," said Harry.

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.

Harry held out his hand and Levina bit back a cringe; it was all too obvious that the Minister was hoping to see what was quite possibly inside. Scrimgeour leaned forward again and place the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry's palm.

Nothing happened. As Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, Levina, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.

"That was dramatic," said Harry coolly. Ron, Levina, and Hermione laughed.

"Very impressive," said Levina.

"That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, making to raise herself off the sofa.

"Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad tempered now. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."

"What is it?" asked Harry, and Levina's excitement rekindled.

Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Hermione, Levina, and Ron stiffened. She looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it. _Damn._

"So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Unfortunately," said Scrimgeour, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs—"

"It belongs to Harry!" said Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat—"

"He had every right to it, you can't just—" Levina snarled.

"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided." Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. "Why do you think—?"

"—Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" said Harry, struggling to keep his temper. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."

"This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Interesting theory," said Harry. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort?"

Levina laughed coldly. "Or maybe a gun? Has seriously _no one _ever tried that before? Maybe some Muggles should take a shot at him."

"Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this is what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying—I was nearly one of the—Voldemort chased me across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"

"You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, standing up: Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Harry's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.

"Hey!" Levina shouted, drawing her wand and pointing it at him.

"Oi!" said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry said, "No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"

"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimgeour breathing hard into Harry's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"

"It's time you earned it," said Harry.

_Ooh, burn! _Thought Levina as she lowered her wand a fraction of an inch.

The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.

"We—we thought we heard—" began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose.

"—raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.

Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.

"It—it was nothing," he growled. "I…regret your attitude," he said, looking Harry full in the face once more.

"And I regret yours," said Levina.

Scrimgeour glared at her. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you—what Dumbledore desired. We ought to work together."

"I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?"

He raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scar that still showed white on the back of it, spelling "_I must not tell lies_".

To support Harry's statement, Levina raised her own arm, pulling back her sleeve so that her own thin, long white scars were apparent: _"Filthy half-breed."_

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Levina heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, "He's gone!"

"What did he want?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the content of his will."

Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the four objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator, the Wary-Bangle, and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third of fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, "Harry, dear, everyone's awfully hungry we didn't like to start without you…Shall I serve dinner now?"

They all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of "Happy Birthday" and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field.

"Meet us upstairs," Levina heard Harry whisper to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, Harry filled Hagrid's moleskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were the Marauder's Map, the shard of Sirius's enchanted mirror, and R.A.B.'s locket, and Levina finally attached the bangle onto her arm. Nothing.

"Well, it's good to know that I can trust you two," said Levina, giving an involuntary tremble, "but this thing is awfully cold."

Hermione appeared a few minutes later in the doorway.

"Muffiato," she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.

"Thought you didn't approve of that spell?" said Ron.

"Times change," said Hermione. "Now, show us that Deluminator."

Ron obliged at once. Holding I up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.

"The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

"Or we could have just shut it off," said Levina. "Y'know, whichever."

There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.

"Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively. "And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!"

"I know but, surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!"

"And is he trying to imply that I have problems trusting people?" said Levina.

"He's not implying it, he's saying it," said Hermione.

"But why? I think it's a weird reason to give me something like this."

"D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.

"Definitely," said Hermione. "He couldn't tell us in the will why he was leaving us these things, but that will doesn't explain..."

"…why he couldn't have given us a hint when he was alive?" asked Ron.

"Or he could have given us this stuff when he was alive," said Levina, fingering the cold bracelet.

"Well, exactly," said Hermione, now flicking through The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think he'd have left us know why...unless he thought it was obvious?"

"Thought wrong, then, didn't he?" said Ron. "I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch—what the hell was that about?"

"I've no idea," said Hermione. "When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"

"Yeah, well," said Harry, "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour was I?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" said Harry. "Don't you remember?"

Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice. Levina's eyes widened, and her hands flew up to her mouth in surprise.

"That was the one you nearly swallowed!"

"Exactly," said Harry, and he pressed his mouth to the Snitch.

It did not open. Levina frowned, sighing in disappointment as he lowered it, but Hermione suddenly shouted something.

"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!" Harry nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Hermione was quite right. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin, slanted handwriting that Levina recognized as Dumbledore's:

_I open at the close._

Levina had barely read them when the words vanished again.

"I open at the close...What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione, Levina, and Ron shook their heads, looking blank.

"I open at the close...at the close...I open at the close..."

But no matter how often they repeated the words, with many different inflections, they were unable to wring any more meaning from them.

"Well, that clarified everything," said Levina, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription.

"And the sword," said Ron finally.

"Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"

"And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry said quietly. "I was there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn't he just give it to me then?"

"And as for this book." Said Hermione, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard…I've never even heard of them!"

"You've never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" said Ron incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not," said Hermione in surprise. "Do you know them then?"

"Well, of course I do!"

Levina looked up in surprise. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however, looked bemused by their surprise.

"Oh come on! All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's aren't they? 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune'…'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot'... 'Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump'..."

"Excuse me?" said Hermione giggling. "What was the last one?"

"Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty—"

"Ron, you know full well Harry, Levina, and I were brought up by Muggles!" said Hermione.

"Destiny's mentioned 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' before," said Levina. "I imagine she probably has all of the old kids' stories in her library."

"We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' and 'Cinderella'–" said Hermione.

"What's that, an illness?" asked Ron.

Levina laughed. "No, but good try. My favorite was always 'The Little Mermaid.'"

"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending against over the runes.

"Yeah." Said Ron uncertainly. "I mean, just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they're like in the original versions."

"But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?"

"Well, when you're done reading it, let me know," said Levina. "It sounds fairly interesting, at least."

Something cracked downstairs.

"Probably just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair," said Ron nervously.

"All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione. "It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."

"No," agreed Ron. "A brutal quadruple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of damper on the wedding."

"It might be fun," said Levina with a light shrug.

"What, getting murdered?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

Levina rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron, getting murdered. No, I just meant that I've never been to a wedding before."

"Oh."

There was a second cracking sound.

"I'll get the light."

And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room, startling Lilypad, who was crawling out from under his bed.

* * *

**Hey guys! To make up for not posting in a while, here's an extra-long chapter for you. Whoo!**

**WingardiumLeviosa1016: Why thank you! I like Frevina moments, too :)**

**Flower gettin' Lady: Thanks so much! I know, I was really upset when JK Rowling started killing everyone off...it was like she put their faces on a dartboard, threw darts at them, and whichever ones she hit, she decided to kill (Don't get me wrong, I love JK Rowling, but it still made me sad ):) And thanks! I always liked Destiny's and George's relationship, just because they come from such opposite families (Rich, poor). Yeah, I think I bawled the first time when Hedwig died in the book :'(**

**Thank you everyone! I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can, but hopefully this one will hold you for a while (It's a couple thousand more than my usual).**


	5. The Wedding

**I know, I know; I'm the worst Fanfiction author on the planet! I'm sorry this chapter took only an eternity to write, loves. Hope you're all still out there. Also, this chapter is _incredibly, horribly, riddiculously short _compared to my usual ones. I feel so bad...But rest assured, the next one is on the way!**

**Disclaimer: Bah! I'm too tired right now to write one. I think you guys get the point by now.**

Three o'clock on the following afternoon found Levina staring hopelessly in the mirror, critically fixing her appearance. She'd woken up with horrible red bed hair, which refused to fall in the right way, even after three uses of "Witch's Dream Cream." She'd adorned herself in a nice, pale pink dress, one that Destiny had insisted over and over again that she wear. She didn't like the dress much, as she had an aversion to the many frills lining it, but she was going to be invisible during most of the wedding, so what did it matter anyway?

"Oh, stop fussing," said Destiny. "You look fine."

This, of course, was easy for her to say; Destiny's silky black hair fell in pretty, perfect curls down her shoulders, and her flawless figure was outlined by a soapy blue dress the exact color of her icy eyes.

_Damn Siren genes, _thought Levina as she attempted to use her wand to neaten up her hair.

"Aren't you _excited_?" Destiny continued, eyeing Levina as though she had done something to offend her. "This is your first wedding, isn't it?"

"It is," Levina confirmed, still tugging at a loose strand of hair. "But why are you so giddy? I thought you said you already went to one before?"

Destiny rolled her eyes and gave a little huff. "Yes, but that was my cousin Josephine's wedding. Terribly boring. Now, granted it was very sweet, but it dragged on for hours and hours, and Eric wasn't there with me, so it was just my dad and me."

"Sorry to hear it," said Levina in feigned-pity; Uncle Nicholas had already told her the entire wedding story, of how gorgeous the place was, how amazing the food was…But then again, when you're rich like Destiny, you tend to not appreciate things as much.

"Come _on_, Levina!" Destiny groaned, tugging at her arm. "Harry, Ron, and our boys are greeting the guests right now. Don't you want to go say hi to them?"

"In this state? No."

"Levina…"

"Oh, all right, all right…"

Levina followed Destiny back downstairs, toward the entrance, where the crowd of witches and wizards were filing in. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. Levina could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot. The entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

"George, you look so handsome!" Destiny gushed, running to plant a quick peck on the twin's cheek.

"And you look beautiful," said George, slightly breathless as he looked her over.

Levina could feel herself shrinking as she approached Fred. "Hi," she said sheepishly.

"Hello, good-looking," said Fred, bending to kiss her cheek. "Hair giving you fits?"

"Oh, you_ did_ notice!" Levina groaned, still annoyed by her tangled hair and dress but nevertheless pleased by his first compliment.

"Don't sweat it." Fred tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

"The second I go invisible, the better. The dress robes are kind of itchy," she added as an afterthought. "And hot."

Fred nodded in agreement."When I get married," said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body Bird Curse on Mum until it's all over. If that's all right with you," he added to Levina, who nearly choked on thin air.

"I—what?" she coughed.

Fred laughed. "I'm just playing with you, Love-ina."

"She wasn't too bad this morning, considering," said George, before Levina could answer. "Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him. Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look."

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches' hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards' cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

"Well, here come people," said Levina, and after a few moments of hard concentration, she vanished, using a translucent color spell.

"Excellent, I think I see a few Veela cousins," said George, craning his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them..."

"Oh-ho, no you _won't_," said Destiny sharply, narrowing her now dagger-like eyes at him.

"Not so fast, Your Holeyness," said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading for the procession, he said, "Here—permetiez moi to assister vous," to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley's old Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry's lot.

"Excuse me," said Levina, placing one hand roughly onto Fred's shoulder, no doubt frightening the French girls, who looked around for the source of the disembodied voice, "but have you forgotten your _girlfriend?"_

Fred turned apologetically in her direction but looked a few feet off, as he could not actually see her. "Sorry, Levina. You know no men can resist Veela—"

"_This _one can," said Levina, taking him by the arm and leading him away. The French Veela girls looked after him curiously, still trying to figure out where the mysterious voice came from. She grit her teeth as she walked. She knew it wasn't entirely Fred's fault—if Veela were male, she'd undoubtedly be drooling over them this instant—but she still couldn't help but feel annoyed.

"Won't happen again. Just keep an eye on me, won't you?" said Fred with a wink, forcing his gaze away from the Veela.

"Wotcher," said a familiar voice as Levina came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. "I could hear you talking. Sorry about last night," she added in a whisper as Fred and Levina led them up the aisle. "The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the museum and we thought our presence might not do Harry any favors."

"Anti-werewolf?" Levina repeated, slightly frightened. She dissolved the spell somewhat, so that about half of her body could be seen. "That doesn't mean…I mean, they can't do anything to…?"

"I would just keep my guard up, if I were you," said Lupin, leaning down some so he was closer to her, now that he could see where she was. "You already have a lot against you…Keep that color charm up."

"Right." Levina re-did the spell, vanishing again into nothingness.

Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred's directions as he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Levina hurried back to the entrance to find where Eric had gone. He was supposed to be greeting the guests as they flooded in, but he was nowhere to be seen. However, instead of finding the dragon worker, Levina came face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck. Levina couldn't help but gawk at it; it was oddly familiar for some reason, but she couldn't quite place it…

She wouldn't have stopped if it hadn't been for the fact that Ron and Harry were also standing there, speaking with the man, slightly awkwardly.

"Xenophilius Lovegood," he said, extending a hand to Harry, "my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?" he added to Ron.

"Yes," said Ron. "Isn't she with you?"

"She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes—or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi."

"Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words," said Ron, "but I think Fred and George taught them those."

Levina covered a snicker with her hand as it rose to her mouth, muffling the sound. The gnomes were indeed very badly behaved and quite vulgar in their vocabulary. Just yesterday Fred had to kick one of them after it referred to Levina as a "female dog," taking a jab at both her and her Werewolf genes.

Xenophilius led a party of warlocks into the marquee, just as Luna rushed up.

"Hello, Harry!" she said.

"Er—my name's Barry," said Harry, flummoxed.

"Oh, have you changed that too?" she asked brightly.

"How did you know—?"

"Oh, just your expression," she said.

Like her father, Luna was wearing vibrantly bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you get over the brightness of it all, it really did look quite nice. Levina was glad she'd left behind her radish earrings and butterbeer necklace.

"Hello there, Levina," she added, turning to look straight at her. Levina returned the stare, taken aback.

"What? You can_ see _me, Luna?"

"No," said Luna pleasantly, "but you have quite the handful of wrackspurts surrounding your head."

Levina blinked. If Harry and Ron could see her, she would've shot them a raised-eyebrow look. "Uh, right…How silly of me."

"I know!" Luna agreed, delighted. "I mean, it was pretty obvious."

Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna, Harry, and Levina. Biding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, "Daddy, look—one of the gnomes actually bit me."

"How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial." Said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna's outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. "Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today—perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaims in Mermish—do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!"

Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort. Levina glared at him, forgetting she was invisible. She didn't want to offend Luna or her father, no matter how ridiculous the idea was.

"Ron can laugh," said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, Levina silently moving at their heels, "but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic."

"Really?" said Harry. "Are you sure you don't want to put anything on that bite, though?"

"Oh, it's fine," said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. Levina looked on at her in disgust, once again glad that she was invisible. "You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colors to a wedding, for luck, you know."

"Right," said Levina. "Because the sun's…lucky."

As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, scarlet-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

"...and your hair's much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?" she barked at Harry.

"Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny."

"Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn't Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?"

"No—he couldn't come—"

"Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Harry's as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. Is that Snowpetal girl here?"

"No, she was…also busy—"

"'Course she was," she said sarcastically. "Because I'm _sure _she's got a lot more important stuff to do. She's not as famous as she was. Now she's just another pretty face…Well, another face, anyway."

Levina's lip curled and she almost made a move toward her, but Harry nudged the air beside her with his elbow, in an attempt to elbow her back, evidently knowing that she was going to do something.

"I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara," she shouted at Harry. "Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still—French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."

"You know, she has a good point," said Levina half-bitterly, dissolving out of her color spell and startling Harry. "I'm not anything special. Who would want to attack me here?"

"You can never be too sure," said Harry. "It might be a good idea to keep that charm going—"

"I'll just alternate it," said Levina, shrugging. "Sometimes off, sometimes on, depending on who I'm with."

"Just be careful…"

While Harry went one way, Levina went the other. The Marquee was nearly full now, making it difficult to navigate her way through the crowd. It wasn't for another six minutes or so until she finally found Hermione, who was deep in a heated conversation with Destiny. Hermione looked the way Levina currently wished she did, wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny.

"…and therefore generally do _not _partake in political affairs," said Hermione firmly.

"No," Destiny argued, her voice raised, "Mum was _always _going on about affairs of state and such, and she said Aunt Aglaophonos had an incredibly high opinion when it came to it—"

"—which is uncommon among most Sirens, as _"Observations of the Merpeople" _says—"

"Oh, what does Grant Hanson know anyway? There's no possible way he could have gotten close enough to the Sirens to a_ctually _get an accurate reading—"

"Uh, guys?" said Levina. Destiny and Hermione both turned, apparently surprised that any other people were around to witness their conversation.

"Oh! Hello, Levina," said Hermione. "Sorry, we were having a debate—"

"—over Siren political behavior—"

Levina put up her hands, motioning for them to stop. "No need to explain. You look really nice, Hermione," she added.

"Thank you!"

"But can't you two drop it for now? I'm still trying to figure out where your cousin wandered off to. He's supposed to be greeting the guests."

"Eric?" said Destiny. "Oh, I think he's with Charlie right now. But I'm sure most everyone is already in the marquee by now…"

"There's Ron!" said Hermione. Their argument forgotten, she took off toward the left, where Harry and Ron had congregated by together again. Destiny and Levina followed closely behind, coming to a halt in front of the boys.

"Wow," said Ron, blinking rather rapidly at Hermione. "You look great!"

"Always the tone of surprise," said Hermione, though she smiled.. "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree; I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"

"Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone," said Ron.

"Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."

"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" asked Hermione.

"Wait, a _real _Grim?" said Levina. She never did fully believe in the creature, after Trelawney's predictions.

"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George.

"But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," said Fred. "He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his—"

"Yes, he sounds a real charmer," said Hermione, while Harry and Levina roared with laughter.

"Never married, for some reason," said Ron.

"You amaze me," said Hermione.

They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said "I didn't know you were— goodness—it's lovely to see—how are you?"

Ron's ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum's invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, "How come you're here?"

"Fleur invited me," said Krum, eyebrows raised.

Levina took the momentary distraction as a good time to return to invisibility, vanishing from sight once again. She didn't want to speak with him for a multiple number of reasons, one of them being wounding Ron's ego. To avoid further tension, Harry led Krum down the aisle to his seat. His appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the Veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him, Ron, Levina, Destiny, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.

"Time to sit down," Fred told the thin air next to Levina, unsure of where she was, "or we're going to get run over by the bride."

Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Levina and Destiny took seats next to their boyfriends, but as they were now in a large group of people, Levina had to use her color spell again, vanishing from sight and making it look as though her seat were empty. She placed an invite in her lap, to make it look like the seat was already taken. Behind them, Hermione looked rather pink and Ron's ears were still scarlet.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst colored robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the Veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

"Ooooh!" said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

Levina also turned around, more excited than she'd been before. Destiny had been right; although she wasn't in the best of moods that morning, now a swell of excitement rose inside of her. Her first wedding! What Fred had mentioned earlier, as a joke, still stuck with Levina as something real…What, she wondered, if they really did get married? She cursed herself for thinking it so early on, but…She couldn't help but allow an image of her and Fred walking down the aisle overwhelm her mind…

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly singsong voice, and with a minor shock, Levina saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur, "we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls..."

"Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely," said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginerva's dress is far too low cut."

Levina rolled her eyes. Of _course _that was all she would notice…

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione tapped Levina's shoulder so that she turned to look at her; she was beaming, and her eyes too were full of tears.

"...then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!"

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The chairs on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

"Smooth," said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some carrying silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

"Yeah," said Levina, in a dream-like sort of trance. Normally, she was not generally the gushy-type, but it was all so beautifully put together that she couldn't help but gawk around in utter awe.

"We'll have time later," shrugged Ron, snatching some butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. "Hermione, cop hold, let's grab a table...Not there! Nowhere near Muriel—"

Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Levina had a distinct feeling that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

"All right if we join you?" asked Ron.

"Oh yes," she said happily. "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present."

"What is it, a lifetime's supply of Gurdyroots?" asked Ron.

Levina re-materialized herself back, so that he could actually see her glare this time. "Shut up, Ron."

The band had begun to play, Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mr. Weasley and Fleur's father.

"I like this song," said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

"She's great isn't she?" said Ron admiringly. "Always good value."

"May I have this dance?"

Levina turned slightly in the direction of the familiar voice. Fred had actually gotten down onto one knee, extending his hand out to Levina, who flushed magenta.

"Did you just completely forget about the Yule Ball?" she asked.

"What, all the gigantic sores you made on my feet?" Fred shrugged. "They went away…eventually."

"You didn't tell me it was that bad!" said Levina. "Merlin's beard, Fred, why on Earth would you want to dance with me again after that?"

"Because you're my girl, and no matter how badly you dance, you're still perfect to me. Now come on, get up!"

Levina positively beamed, finally taking his hand. "Oh, all right, Mr. Charming. You've got me."

It wasn't pretty by any means; at least at the Yule ball, Destiny's lessons had been fresh in Levina's mind…but now? She stepped on Fred's feet at least seven times in just the first five minutes, and she even managed to somehow knee him in the shin, whilst attempting a spin.

"Oh, Fred, I'm sorry!" Levina's hands flew up to her mouth. "I swear I'm not doing this on purpose…"

"It's…fine," said Fred, with a wince. "But your heels are killer. Do girls just wear them in case they want to_ attack_ someone?"

"I don't think that's the case," said Levina apologetically.

They continued to maneuver about the dance floor for some time, but by the end of their fifth or sixth song, Levina was pretty sure she had almost sliced Fred's feet clean off. He protested against it, saying he felt fine, but Levina ignored his objections and led him back to her table, stuffing a sandwich in her mouth as she went. That was one of the perks of being his girlfriend; she didn't have to do anything to impress him, as they were already dating, and could be herself.

Levina held hands with Fred and they sat side-by-side, watching the wedding cake be sliced. It was topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the cake was cut, earning some "ooh"s and "ah"s from the crowd.

"Beautiful," Levina commented, sighing as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

As the evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained. Levina leaned into Fred's shoulder tiredly. Charlie, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing "Odo the Hero" in the corner.

Levina watched Fleur and Bill dance together, gazing dreamily into each other's eyes. Levina envisioned herself and Fred in their place…Levina in a white dress, Fred in dark wedding robes…The only obvious difference would be that they would be continually apologizing, rubbing their feet in pain. But the image was still pretty…

"Levina," said a voice suddenly, breaking into Levina's thoughts. Levina looked around, half-annoyed at the interruption. Destiny and George were standing hovering over her and Fred, also holding hands.

"Whazzup?" Levina slurred. She'd downed a decent amount of Butterbeers (Avoiding the Firewhiskey, as it seemed to have more of an effect on her), and now wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into Fred's chest and sleep.

"Could you help me find Eric? That idiot's disappeared on me again, I only just found him." She shook her head, annoyed. "There was this group of Veela crowding him…I wanted to speak with him, but he's not around…Help me?" Two pleading blue eyes blinked at her.

"Damn you and your Siren charms," Levina muttered, getting slowly to her feet. "Don't go anywhere," she added to Fred, who did not look as though he were going to move anytime soon anyhow.  
Harry approached him.

The task seemed fruitless, but Levina searched around the tent nevertheless, looking for Eric's dark hair. She made a circle around the area, checking every table and every couple on the dance floor, but he was nowhere to be seen. She began to pull back the curtains, tugging them roughly aside as she went, only to find empty spaces. Just as she was about to give up, Levina yanked back one exceptionally billowy curtain and finally found the dragon worker. But he was not alone.

Eric was entwined closely with a dark haired woman, heavily snogging her with his hands entangled in her hair, his piercing golden eyes shut. At the sound of the curtain being drawn, the couple broke apart with a start, surprised. Eric turned his sharp gaze back behind him, landing it on Levina, who cowered.

"Oh—sorry, Eric, I didn't see—I mean, Destiny told me to—"she spluttered.

Eric rolled his eyes, but he seemed more aggravated than he let on. "It's all right. What do you want?"

"Er—Destiny wanted to say something to you—"

"Well, she can wait," said Eric, curling one arm around the woman's waist. "I've only just gotten Mirela to myself. All of Fleur's Veela cousins have been swarming around me like bees, it was mad—"

"Don't keep your cousin waiting because of me," said the girl politely, smiling up at him. She was wearing a beautiful blue and purple dress made out of silky, flowing fabric with three layers, matching the ribbon in her hair. She was very pretty.

Eric looked between the two, disappointed. "But Mira—" he protested.

Levina bit her lip to stifle a small giggle forming at her mouth. It was pretty amusing, she had to admit, seeing cool, reserved Eric making a plea of sorts to anyone.

Mirela put one finger to his mouth, then glanced at the other girl and quickly let her hand fall back to her side. "You should go see what Destiny wants," she told Eric, "Don't worry, I'll be right here."

Eric sighed into her finger in defeat, still looking slightly annoyed. "All right...Levina, this is Mirela, my...girlfriend." The word seemed almost painful to him. Levina couldn't blame him; ever since Destiny knew about his relationship, she wouldn't stop pestering him about it.

"Nice to meet you," said Levina, extending her hand to the girl. "I'm Levina, Levina Snowpetal. I'm...kind of supposed to be invisible right now—"

"—and you know you could get in trouble for not doing so—" added Eric.

"—but hey, it's no fun talking to thin air," Levina finished.

"Oh, Levina! It's nice to meet you, too. I'm Mirela Loveanu," she introduced herself, smiling easily again. "You're quite right—and it would be much harder to meet you if you were invisible...as I suppose you should be."

Levina shrugged in a sheepish sort of way. "Well, I kind of did some dancing with Fred—"

"You what?" Eric quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Er…nothing. It was more like killing each other's feet, anyway…But you should be going to see Destiny now!" she added, drawing his attention away.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Why do I always have to keep an eye on you and Destiny? Like children, honestly…" He took Mirela by the hand, then led her across the tent, vanishing back into the crowd.

Levina didn't honestly see what the big deal was…So far, no imposters or anything had jumped out and attacked her or anything…But then, he was only thinking of her safety.

She scanned the room several times, looking for Harry. She wanted to divide her time evenly between her boyfriend and her friend, as he seemed kind of neglected lately, unable to truly "be" with Ginny. For a good couple of minutes, she forgot that he was currently a Weasley, and she overlooked him three times before realizing where he was.

He was sitting at a table with Mr. Doge and Ron's Auntie Muriel, wearing a strangely wide-eyed expression. Levina frowned, then headed over to the table, sliding in next to him, turning invisible again as she did so.

"Boo," she whispered, causing him to jump nearly a foot in the air.

"Levina?"

"Yeah. What's up? You look kind of pale."

Harry blinked in her direction, then shook his head. "It's…nothing. Nothing."

Levina gave him an "I-know-you're-lying" look that he did not receive. "Come on, Harry. Spill."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Hermione had just dropped into the open seat on Harry's other side, breathing heavily and slipping off one of her shoes, rubbing the sole of her foot.

"I simply can't dance anymore," she panted. "Ron's gone looking to find more butterbeers. It's a bit odd. I've just seen Viktor storming away from Luna's father, it looked like they'd been arguing—" She dropped her voice, staring at him. "Harry, are you okay?"

"No," said Levina.

Hermione peered over in Levina's direction, looking not in the least bit surprised to hear her voice. "How come?"

If Harry was going to answer them or not, it didn't matter, for at that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

* * *

**Once again, I'm _really _sorry, guys. This chapter was bloody short, but I was actually thinking recently: The longer the chapter, the shorter the amount of chapters. So I may start spacing them out more from here on, I'm not sure yet...**

**Guest: Merlin's beard, thank you so much! That means a lot to me:) And well, you never know; you'll just have to keep reading to find out what happens ;)**

**Kaitie131: Thanks! And actually, I'm planning to release an "extra" thing after this book, with "deleted scenes" and such, as well as things with Eric and other characters you don't see as much. :)**

**WingardiumLeviosa1067: Thank you! :D Of course, what would it be without the Frevina moments? ;)**


	6. Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE! (No, this isn't an actual chapter. But I *promise* to have one up soon!)**

**/slinks shyly into room, grinning sheepishly/ Hello lovelies! Heh heh...miss me? I know, I know. I suck. Sorry. I abandoned this story for...how long? Over a year? Well damn.**

**Anyway, I was surprised to be getting a lot of reviews and private messages lately from fans of this story. Some were on my older ones, some were on this one. I guess I had just assumed that everyone had either forgotten about this story, or Harry Potter, or both. I wasn't getting a whole lot of feedback anymore, so I thought I lost all my followers and just discontinued it.**

**But apparently not?**

**And so, I'm officially returning to work on this story! (Scattering of applause)**

**I really, _really _would like to take this moment to apologize. I had no idea there were still so many of you watching this story. You're all lovely, and if I could like bake you an amazing Harry Potter cake or something to show my love, I would.**

**Anyway, Levina and I are glad to be back. Well...I am, anyway. I suppose I can't speak for my muse, who's about to get into a whoooole lot of shit as this book progresses. I know; I'm mean to her.**

**-That's how I roll-**


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